A Family Recipe

by Veronica Henry

  ‘There’ll be people who’ve lost their loved ones and their homes. People with nowhere to go. So stop grizzling.’

  ‘Grizzling …?’ Jilly felt wounded by Ivy’s hardness. ‘Ivy, my mum and dad are dead. They’re never coming back. I’ll never see them again. Either of them.’

  She had to breathe to stop a wave of panic engulfing her. She didn’t want to get hysterical.

  Ivy’s tight lips softened. She sat down.

  ‘I know, sweetheart.’ Now Jilly could see the anguish in her eyes. ‘I know. But we’ve got to keep going. There’ll be plenty of time for crying later.’ Ivy swept away the bread crumbs with a flourish. ‘While you’re sorting yourself out I’m going to pinch your dad’s bike and go and see if my lot are all right.’

  ‘Won’t they want you with them?’

  ‘They don’t need me to look after them. Mum’s got my two big brothers if she needs anything doing. They only need me for my wages.’ Ivy was flippant, but Jilly could see that underneath her bravado she was agitated about her family. ‘I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’

  After Ivy had gone, Jilly stepped out again into the back garden. The apple blossom was coming out, the espaliered trees stretching their branches along the walls as if to say look at us – look how pretty we are. There would be weeding to do and potting up and planting. Things to attend to in the greenhouse. Her mother and father spent an hour together in the garden every day, chatting companionably, conferring. Jilly lent a hand sometimes but she had no real idea of the timetable they adhered to. Only that even a momentary lack of attention could have grave consequences. Words whirled around her head: black spot and greenfly and potato blight. All things she would have to familiarise herself with if the garden was to remain as bountiful as it had been under their care.

  That was not for now, though. The garden could wait for a while. There was no point in worrying about black spot if they were all going to get blown up.

  Yesterday’s strategy of ‘keep calm and carry on’ was not so apparent later that morning when Ivy and Jilly set off to go into the city. Panic was now setting in, and many people who had stood firm the night before were losing their nerve and preparing to flee the city.

  The streets were choked with buses stuffed with distraught families taking as many belongings as they could with them, hoping to find refuge elsewhere – anywhere – not wanting to risk yet another night of sustained attack.

  ‘Yellow bellies,’ sniffed Ivy, who had been relieved to see her own family had escaped unscathed. They were staying put, resolute, and she felt proud of them.

  The city was in a state of bewildered shock, but there was a system in place, teams of people ready to restore order: police, firefighters, nurses, messengers … Everyone stepped up to do their bit and there was a spirit of co-operation and self-sacrifice that was reassuring in itself. Some emergency workers had been at work since the very first bomb had dropped the first night. How could you stop, when people needed you? Beneath them were reams of volunteers and helpers, and no job was considered too small or unworthy.

  Nevertheless, it was a daunting task to organise everything that needed to be done to restore order. The search for survivors among the wreckage was the priority, but also to make buildings safe and to put out fires. Then help for those whose homes had been destroyed or people who had been hurt or injured.

  Everyone was aware that precious daylight hours were slipping away.

  No one knew if the Germans would come back again.

  But the disaster brought out the best in people. Help poured in from all corners. Buildings were commandeered as rest centres, supplies were shipped in, donations and offers of assistance were boundless. Counteracting that were terrible tales of loss and tragedy. Finding enough space to store the dead quickly became a crisis as the mortuaries were overflowing.

  Jilly and Ivy became more and more sombre as they walked through their beloved city. It was almost surreal, walking along a road you knew and loved to find that an entire house had been wiped out while the others around them stood oblivious. Some of the bombed houses were still burning; others lay sprawled out across the pavement and into the road, slumped in defeat. The mess, the chaos, the crowds of dazed and displaced people not knowing what to do were distressing, but there was no point in standing by and gawping. That wasn’t going to help anyone.

  ‘Why?’ asked Ivy as they hurried along the high pavements. ‘Why did they do it? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Of course you do. Because they can. Isn’t that the point? To unsettle us. To frighten us. To make us feel that nowhere and nothing and no one is safe.’

  ‘All these innocent people. Look! Just ordinary people living in a house, minding their own business.’

  They could see a body covered in a tarpaulin. A woman looking on, weeping, being comforted by her neighbours. Rescue workers dug through the rubble, the look on their faces indicating they didn’t hold out much hope. A small girl in a yellow dress came out of a house further down the street to stare. She was clutching a doll in one arm and had her thumb in her mouth.

  ‘She looks just like my little cousin Maisie,’ said Ivy, distressed. ‘That’s the terrible thing. It could have been my own little cousin. Or any of us.’

  For a moment, somehow, she had forgotten about Jilly’s parents. Then she stopped in her tracks.

  ‘Oh, Jilly, I’m so sorry. I’m so stupid. It’s all of this – it’s stopping me thinking straight.’ Ivy’s eyes were wild in her narrow face. She was rubbing at her arms, cold in the thin dress she had put on, her hair tangling in the breeze, vulnerable in that moment, even her indomitable spirit crushed by what they were seeing.

  Jilly, conversely, felt braver now she had seen the destruction. Had her parents perished in isolation, it might have been harder to bear, but they were two among many. It didn’t take the pain away, but it gave her a distraction from her grief, the idea that she might be able to make a difference to someone else who had suffered.

  ‘Come on,’ she said to Ivy. ‘There’s no point in weeping and wailing. There’s work to be done.’

  She hooked her arm in her friend’s and they carried on. As they walked, Jilly realised they were taking the same route she and Harry had taken the night they met – the moonlit tour she had given him, in blissful ignorance of what had been about to happen. She had been so proud of her city and its grace and beauty. Bath would rise up against this destruction, she was certain of it.

  There was a fire engine outside the church hall near the Assembly Rooms. The pumps were dry, drained from the demands already put on them. They watched as the flames ate the brick with a voracious appetite, scarlet and orange and black licking the yellow stone. The firemen were weary and frustrated. They had been on their watch since the raids began the night before. And what could they do without water?

  ‘Blimey O’Reilly,’ said Ivy, her eyes wide. ‘We were only in there Friday night. It seems like a lifetime ago. I had three port and lemons.’ She turned to Jilly. ‘You buggered off. I came to find you and you’d gone. You missed a right knees-up.’

  Jilly just smiled. Ivy poked her with a sharp elbow.

  ‘You’ve got to stop being such a boring old wallflower. You might have met the man of your dreams.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Jilly. Half of her longed to tell Ivy that she had. It would be a welcome distraction. But the other half wanted to keep it all to herself. She still wasn’t sure how to feel or what to think. Harry might have felt like the man of her dreams, but she had banished him from them for the time being. At the moment, she didn’t want to dream at all.

  They walked to the rest centre they’d helped at the day before. It was even more chaotic, and it soon became apparent that last night’s bombings had doubled the severity and created a crisis. The death count was in the hundreds now, with many more missing, and there were terrible stories of families ripped apart: fathers walking out of the door and not coming back, children crushed by f
alling masonry, half a hotel’s guests burned to death while the other half remained unscathed. It was a lottery; a game of chance.

  Jilly’s head swam as she took in the gravity of the situation. She didn’t know whether to count herself as a lucky survivor or an unfortunate victim. All she did know was that it was her duty to help. She might have been bereaved, and in the most brutal way, but she was still in one piece, as was her house.

  ‘I’m going to take in a family,’ she said to Ivy. ‘I’ve got two big rooms at the top of the house. Plenty of space. They can stay there as long as they like, until they get back on their feet. I can feed them. Look after them.’

  ‘You’re bloody mad.’ Ivy looked at her in horror. ‘You don’t know who you’ll get.’

  Jilly shrugged. ‘Someone who needs refuge. Someone who needs comfort. It’s the least I can do.’

  ‘I think you’ll be sorry.’ Ivy crossed her arms.

  ‘It’s what my parents would have done. I know they would.’

  Jilly was sure of that. Her father would have been working tirelessly to tend the injured, with her mother either helping him or finding her own rescue mission. They would have been cheerful and indefatigable and reassuring and just the people you would want around.

  ‘Yes, but they had each other,’ Ivy pointed out. ‘And you. You’re on your own. And are you sure you feel up to it? After what’s happened?’

  She didn’t say the words, but Jilly knew what she meant. She squared her shoulders.

  ‘What’s happened is the reason for doing it. And what else am I going to do? My father’s gone so my job’s gone. I don’t want to rattle about in that huge house.’

  Ivy shook her head. ‘You’ve always been a much better person than I have.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. It makes sense, that’s all.’

  Ivy looked around at all the people in the room; their weary patience. Elderly couples looking dazed, young children clinging to their mothers.

  ‘Well, don’t think I’m leaving you on your own with a houseful of strangers. I’d better move in.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Jilly, ‘I’d love that. If you’re sure your family won’t mind?’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? They’ll have my bed before my back’s even turned.’

  Jilly felt happy with the plan. Ivy was a whirlwind and had her own way of looking at things but she had an energy to her that was contagious, and Jilly feared that without her in the house she might not want to get up and face the day, which had been part of her reason for taking in a family. There would be no malingering with Ivy around.

  The council offices were mayhem. There were queues of people in varying states of emotion: distressed, dazed, demanding. The trauma affected everyone differently – some were agitated, some compliant. One woman was shouting, hysterical, demanding that something be done to help her right now this instant. Another was incapable of speech, mute with shock, quite helpless. There was no one in charge of managing the crowd because everyone was needed to deal with the administration.

  Jilly had to queue for ages, because there didn’t seem to be any system and the staff were overstretched and under pressure. They weren’t prepared for this chaos – how could they be? It was impossible to put a contingency plan in place for a disaster of this scale. She finally spoke to a harassed-looking woman who was delighted when she offered accommodation rather than ask for it.

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. I’ve got just the family for you. The whole house came down around their ears last night. Mum and the kids were under an upturned sofa and had to be dug out. They’re in shock, but not hurt.’

  ‘I can’t begin to imagine,’ said Jilly. How were you supposed to cope with an experience like that?

  ‘They’ve lost everything. They’ve got the clothes they were wearing and nothing else. They’ve sorted them out with some bits and pieces at the WVS – nappies for the baby and so on.’

  ‘I’m sure I can find some basics. And I’ve got plenty of bedding and towels.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. People have been so kind but it’s hard to find room for a family this size and of course they want to be together. And mum doesn’t want to move out of Bath – she got quite hysterical when we suggested Bradford on Avon …’

  The woman was shuffling around endless pieces of paper. She finally found the one she wanted. She looked at Jilly, worn out, her face pale as milk. ‘I hope they don’t come again tonight. We’re barely managing as it is. Address?’

  ‘Number Eleven Lark Hill. Lansdown.’

  ‘It’s a fair old walk. I’m not sure the smalls would manage it. Or mum, come to think of it.’ The woman frowned. ‘She is quite … fragile.’

  Jilly wasn’t sure what she meant by fragile, but she thought it might be a euphemism. She remembered the big black Austin in the garage at the bottom of the garden.

  ‘I’ve got my father’s car. I could go back and get it, then come and fetch them?’

  She didn’t mention she didn’t really know how to drive. Living in a city, there was barely any need: she walked everywhere. Her father had needed it for visiting patients out in the countryside, and of course speed was of the essence in his occupation. It was a familiar sight. Everyone knew Dr Wilson’s car.

  ‘Oh, that would be perfect. You are an angel. Now as I said, they’ve lost everything including their ration books. But they’ll be able to pick up new ones in the next few days.’

  ‘It’s not a problem. Not for the time being. I’m in a good financial position. I’m happy to be able to help.’

  The clerk spread out the paperwork in front of her.

  ‘They’re the Norris family. From Kingsmead. Mum and three little ones. The husband’s away fighting so I’m sure they’ll be very grateful. We’ll be doing all we can to house them permanently but it won’t be for a while. As you can imagine, we’re very short of accommodation.’

  She stamped the papers with a bang then moved on to the next person in the queue. There wasn’t time for niceties. As far as the clerk was concerned, that was one family taken care of among many others to deal with.

  12

  Somehow, after Sadie had gone, Laura managed to get showered and dressed, although she felt sure that if she hadn’t got Sam Budge coming to mend the Aga she might have been tempted to stay in her pyjamas despite her friend’s directive. She felt light-headed from lack of sleep, agitated and nervy, her mind flipping from wondering how Willow was to poor Ivy in hospital and trying to avoid thinking about the real elephant: her marriage.

  She had no idea what to do. If only she hadn’t found out. Maybe they could have gone on for ever, her living in blissful ignorance. She’d had no inkling, after all, that Dom was unhappy with her or being unfaithful. There were no clues. He seemed to love her and appreciate her. And they still had sex – good sex. As often as anyone their age, she imagined.

  What had he told Antonia? What had they spoken about? How had they justified what they were doing? To themselves? To each other?

  Laura forced herself to put on some mascara. She looked in the mirror: she had quite a round face and plump skin, which hadn’t aged badly. She didn’t look so very different from when she was first married. A few strands of silver in her hair, and she was certainly a stone or two heavier …

  Her mobile was ringing. It was Dom. She braced herself. She would be businesslike. She would not cry. She picked up the phone gingerly and answered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Laura. Darling. We need to talk.’

  ‘No. We don’t. And don’t “darling” me.’

  ‘I need to see you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well …’ He sounded nonplussed. ‘To explain.’

  ‘I don’t want to know.’

  ‘We can’t just do nothing.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You mean that’s it? I don’t get to—’

  ‘No, Dom. You don’t. I didn’t have any choice in this, so you don’t either. You can come and pi
ck up whatever you need from the house.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s a perfectly rational reaction.’ She could imagine the expression on his face so clearly. Bewilderment. It used to make her laugh when Dom was flummoxed by a situation. Now, his bewilderment hardened her heart. ‘Let me know what time you’re coming and I’ll make sure I’m out.’

  She hung up. Her hands were trembling and she felt as if her stomach had been turned inside out. She put her phone down on the table. It rang almost straight away and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  ‘Bugger off!’ she shouted at the phone, then saw it was Sam Budge. She snatched it up. She couldn’t afford to miss him.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘I’ll be with you in about half an hour, Mrs Griffin. Get the kettle on.’

  Sam Budge was as broad and sturdy as the Agas he serviced, and had a voice like cider and Laurie Lee – slow and sweet and countrified. In a trice he had dustsheets all over the kitchen and the innards out and had started fettling all the intricate and mysterious parts with an assortment of cloths and brushes and screwdrivers, making a glorious mess.

  While he worked, Sam kept up a monologue of hilarious anecdotes, part Young Farmer japes/part stag-night malarkey, that had Laura weeping with laughter despite her mood. He had a descriptive way with him and a wry sense of humour and was obviously high-spirited once he’d had a few. Laura wasn’t sure she would want to bump into him on a stag night, but he was very conscientious and good-humoured and, above all, kind.

  ‘Anyway, Deggsy got done for drink-driving the next morning,’ he told her. ‘They pulled him over on the Yate road. Locked him up till teatime – he was twice over the limit.’

  She tutted. ‘He’ll lose his licence.’

  ‘Idiot. Everyone knows not to drive the next morning after a skinful. I always get Hayley to drive on a Sunday. She never has more than three Smirnoff Ices.’

  Laura heard the front door open and shut, and Dom call out. She immediately tensed.