‘Yes. And I’m just doing Kanga supper. Avgolemono.’
‘Oh.’ Willow sounded wistful for a moment. ‘I wish I was there. Miss you, Mum.’
‘Oh my God, I miss you too.’ Laura felt her defences lower as her need for her daughter tugged at her insides.
Then Willow cut across her.
‘Listen, I’ve got to go. We’re going to a fancy dress. There’s eight of us going as Crayola crayons. I’m the blue.’
Laura laughed, a little shaky. ‘Well, good luck with that. And have fun.’
‘OK, no probs. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
She hung up. Thank God Willow hadn’t asked about Dom. She wasn’t sure how she was going to deal with that at all.
Fortified by a glass of wine, Laura finished off the avgolemono, beating the egg yolks and lemon juice into the chicken stock, then whipping the whites before folding them in along with the cooked rice. The creamy yellow concoction never failed to soothe her, and Kanga arrived just in time for her to dollop several spoonfuls into two bowls, then scatter finely chopped parsley, a sprinkling of lemon zest and black pepper on the top.
‘This is just what I need,’ said Kanga. ‘Beverley and I are going to look at a home for Ivy next week.’
‘Can’t she go home?’
‘Not in the state she’s in at the moment. She’s going to need full-time nursing care with her hip, and none of her family are up to looking after her. They’re all too busy with the salon. And she’s terribly frail. I think this has probably been coming for some time. I’m just cross I didn’t see it.’
‘Kanga, you don’t have a crystal ball.’
‘No, but she’s been getting frail and doddery. She hides it so well, that’s the trouble. You know Ivy – last time I saw her she was still in lipstick and three-inch heels!’
‘A home, though. That seems drastic.’
‘At least she’ll be properly fed and looked after, and if she falls again they’ll know about it. And if she makes a good recovery she can go back to her own home …’
Laura sensed that Kanga didn’t think she would. After all, how often did old people go into nursing homes and come out of them again?
‘At least you can help Beverley make the right choice.’
‘At the moment, there isn’t a choice. Just a place at a home in Frilmington. And the really awful thing is Ivy’s released all the equity on her flat so there’s no money.’
Laura was shocked.
‘That’s terrible! How could they let her do that?’
‘Well, I think perhaps there might have been something in it for them. You know what her family can be like. They do take advantage a bit.’
‘A bit?’ Laura raised her eyebrows.
‘I’m not going to judge. Beverley’s doing the best she can.’
‘Well, at least Ivy’s got you to fight her corner. I’m not sure I’d trust Beverley to choose my care home.’
‘Don’t you worry,’ said Kanga. ‘I’m going to make sure she gets the best care possible.’
17
1942
Jilly could just make out the face of her bedside clock in the gloom. It was five in the morning and Ivy was deeply asleep in the bed next to her, her breathing gentle and rhythmic.
The Germans hadn’t come back.
She slumped back onto the pillow with a sigh of relief. When she had gone to bed at eleven she hadn’t thought she would sleep, but she must have done. She lay there for a few minutes, and as the relief faded the cold hardness of grief slipped in and lodged itself somewhere in her chest, familiar after only two days.
It was Tuesday. Usually in two hours she would be getting ready to go with her father to the surgery. She felt overwhelmed by the thought of everything that needed to be done: funeral arrangements, all the people her parents worked with notified, decisions to be made – perhaps she shouldn’t have taken on the responsibility of a family to look after? But that was how the city was going to get over this: by helping each other, by going above and beyond and putting other people first. The administration would take care of itself eventually. For now, everything was in a state of chaos.
She thought if she could just restore order to Number 11 and make it a safe place for everyone, she could cope. After all, the very last thing she wanted at the moment was to be on her own. She was grateful for Ivy, even though she was a potential liability. She was grateful to the Norris family, for giving her a purpose. Without all of them she would be alone in this big house with nothing for company except desolation.
She slipped out of bed and peeped behind the blackout to see a pale-pink dawn creeping over the roofs below. No plumes of black smoke; no flames. Bath still slumbered, luxuriating in a much-needed rest after the horrors of the last two nights. No one would be able to sleep in for long as there was still much to be done to get the city back on its feet, but at least there were no more casualties, no more destruction. That was no guarantee they wouldn’t come back another night, but at least they could make progress today.
Jilly crept out of the bedroom to go down to the kitchen. The stone stairs were cold beneath her feet so she ran back up and into her parents’ room, where she found her mother’s slippers by the bed. She stood for a moment staring at them. They were a dark red, in a velvety fabric, with sheepskin inside. Was it morbid, to wear her dead mum’s slippers?
She didn’t care if it was. She slipped her feet inside and straight away their soft warmth made her feel better. They were a tiny bit big, but it didn’t matter. She stood up and put her shoulders back, standing tall. Maybe they were magic slippers and would give her the strength she needed. They would give her all her mum’s qualities, her kindness and calmness and her humanity. Her way of knowing just the right thing to say or do. She could see her face so clearly: round, with her smiley eyes and pink cheeks and the smoothest skin that made her look much younger than she was.
Jilly could sense a wave of desolation coming. She turned quickly to dodge it, running out of the bedroom and down the stairs as fast as she could until she reached the kitchen door. She ran in, slamming the door behind her as if to shut out the demons of despair.
She filled the kettle, lifted the hob on the Aga, put the kettle on to boil and climbed up to take down the blackouts and let the morning in. Then she ran outside and down the garden to let the chickens out of their coop. She breathed in the spring air, deep gusts of it. Yesterday had smelled scorched and acrid, but today she smelled blossom and damp grass and hope. She heard Mungo give a deep, rich snort of greeting and she smiled: you couldn’t not smile when there was a pig on the premises.
Five minutes later she sat at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of tea in front of her, the teapot on standby for a top-up, covered in the yellow knitted cosy she had made when she was eight, the pompom slightly lopsided. She had a piece of paper and a pencil and started to make a list of what needed doing:
Funeral
Ration books
Clothes for Helena/children
Toys
Money?
Money was a poser. She had her own, from her job, and there was always a float in her father’s study, in a cash box in the top drawer of his desk. She’d go and look for that later. In the meantime, she pulled out the kitchen drawer and there was her mother’s purse, a red leather pouch with a metal clasp. She snapped it open. Two pound notes and an assortment of coins. She emptied the purse out and put the money on the table.
She would have to see Mr Kettle the solicitor. See if she had access to her father’s bank account. She realised she had no idea how much money they had. They’d never wanted for anything but presumably it wasn’t a bottomless pit. Never mind money, she thought. Food was the most important issue at the moment: she had six mouths to feed.
She could hear Ivy coming down the stairs. Her peace was going to be shattered, and now the day would begin, and they would all have to face the future – the future that was so uncertain and fraught with peril.<
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‘The buggers never came back then,’ said Ivy, stretching and yawning as she came into the kitchen, still in her dressing gown. ‘Thank goodness. I needed that kip.’
‘It doesn’t mean they won’t come back again, though, does it? Maybe they’re lulling us into a false sense of security.’
Ivy stared at her. ‘We can’t look on the black side. We’ve got to believe that it’s going to be all right in the end. We’ve got to.’
Jilly couldn’t answer. She was doing her best, but sometimes it was terribly hard to keep buoyant. She wasn’t so worried about her own survival as how she was going to face life without her parents. It would almost have been easier if she’d died with them. But she knew that attitude wasn’t going to help. Misery and gloom were catching. She didn’t want to spread them. She had to smile, even though she wanted to go back to bed and put the covers over her head.
The door burst open and Colin barrelled in, still in his vest and pants.
‘Mum’s still asleep. She says you’ll give us breakfast!’ he shouted.
Julie sidled in behind, thumb in her mouth, wearing a blanket as a cape.
‘How about porridge?’ asked Jilly.
Colin’s nose wrinkled. ‘I don’t know if I like that.’
‘Well, if you don’t, we can give it to Mungo. He loves porridge more than anything.’
Ivy frowned.
‘They’ll bloody well learn to like it. We don’t want waste.’
Jilly pulled out a saucepan from one of the cupboards and reached down a jar of oats.
‘What about Dot? Is she awake? Why don’t you go and fetch her down and we can let your mum sleep a bit longer?’
The two children left the room to go and get their sister.
‘Why does she get special treatment?’ asked Ivy when they were out of earshot.
‘Ivy, we must treat Helena with a bit of compassion. What happened to her was terrible.’
‘What about what’s happened to you?’
‘It’s all right. I’m fine. I don’t think Helena’s quite as tough as I am.’
‘Don’t you believe it. I know her type. They play helpless but they’re not.’
Jilly knew her friend needed a firm hand. When Ivy took against someone it was impossible to change her mind, but she wasn’t having her being hard on Helena.
‘Don’t start, Ivy. I’m doing my bit.’
Ivy put her hands on her hips, indignant.
‘Well, you want to be careful. You’d be best off hiding any valuables. I’ve seen her looking around.’ Ivy wiggled her fingers. ‘She might not be able to keep her mitts off.’
Jilly just laughed. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
Ivy looked furious. ‘Don’t come crying to me when she pinches the family silver. She’s Kingsmead and they’re all thieving guttersnipes.’
‘We’re not, actually.’
The two girls turned to see Helena standing in the doorway with Dot holding her hand. She shook back her hair, looking fierce and proud.
‘I’ve never nicked anything in my life. I can leave if you want. I’ll go back down the council. They’ll have to find me somewhere else.’
Jilly flashed a glare at Ivy, warning her not to say anything.
‘No, no, no. Don’t be silly. I love having you here. Come and sit down and have some porridge.’
Helena walked past Ivy towards the table. The two women locked eyes for a moment.
Ivy tossed her head and made for the door.
‘I’m going to go and get dressed.’
Once Ivy had gone, Jilly sat down next to Helena. ‘Don’t mind Ivy. Her bark’s worse than her bite, you know.’
To her surprise, Helena smiled.
‘Oh, don’t worry. I know all about Ivy Skinner. Who doesn’t? She can bloody talk about nicking things. She’s stolen more men than I’ve had hot dinners.’
Helena plunged her spoon into her porridge. Jilly passed her a pot of raspberry jam with a sigh. There was definitely a war still on – under her own roof.
After breakfast, Jilly went back up the stairs and braved her parents’ bedroom. She opened the wardrobe to see if she could look out some of her mum’s old dresses. When she was younger her mother had been tiny and had been known for the pretty frocks she ran up on her Singer. It was only in later years she had become thicker in the waist and hips and dressed more like the schoolteacher she was, although she still liked to dress up for an occasion.
Jilly steeled herself as she opened the wardrobe. It smelled of her mother’s scent. It was as if she had walked into the room. She could almost hear her voice: ‘Hello, poppet. What are you after? You don’t want any of my clobber, surely?’
She wasn’t going to be mawkish. She wasn’t going to start fondling her mother’s old clothes and end up sobbing into them. She braced herself and began to dig about at the back of the wardrobe where her mum had kept the older stuff. She found a selection of things that might be suitable for Helena: some skirts and a couple of cardigans and blouses. And there were two floral dresses made of silk, with tiny covered buttons. She held them up, admiring her mother’s dressmaking skills. She would never be able to fit into them herself. She swallowed. She couldn’t be sentimental about keeping them. This was an emergency. Helena needed clothes.
She took them down to the kitchen where Helena was spooning the last of a bowl of porridge into Dot. Most of it seemed to be on the table or in Dot’s hair. Ivy was washing up the breakfast things.
‘Look,’ said Jilly. ‘I found these. I think they would fit you. They’re so pretty. You’d look lovely in them.’
She held them out, showing off the brightly coloured silks. They were a breath of fresh air: everyone still seemed to be wearing the sombre colours of winter, as if war was dictating the sartorial mood.
Helena looked at the dresses longingly.
‘Go on. I’ll look after Dot if you want to go and try them on.’
Helena reached out and took them from Jilly, then left the room without a thank you.
‘She is so bloody rude!’ exploded Ivy.
‘Shhhh. She’s been through a lot.’
‘It doesn’t excuse rudeness. You’re the kindest person anyone could ever wish to meet. I don’t know how you can have her under your roof.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jilly. ‘It’s not for ever.’
‘Let’s hope not,’ said Ivy. ‘Let’s hope the council get their finger out and rehouse her quickly.’
Dot banged her spoon on the table and glowered at Ivy, as if she knew Ivy wasn’t keen on her mother.
‘Come here, you,’ said Jilly. ‘Let’s get that porridge off you.’
She dampened a tea towel and scrubbed at Dot, who scrumpled up her face. She was a funny little thing, but made Jilly’s heart melt rather as she pushed her mouth out into an exaggerated pout and breathed deeply in and out through her nose.
‘You’re a pickle,’ said Jilly, giving her a hug.
Five minutes later Helena appeared in the doorway in a green dress sprinkled with yellow flowers. It was a little too long but fitted her perfectly otherwise. She looked like a fashion plate, as if she was heading out for a romantic encounter, but for her clumpy lace-up shoes.
‘Oh,’ said Jilly. ‘You look like something out of a magazine.’
It was the first time Helena had smiled since she’d arrived.
‘Thank you wouldn’t hurt,’ said Ivy.
‘Thank you,’ said Helena shyly, and burst into tears. ‘Thank you. You’ve been so kind …’
In the afternoon, Jilly had planned for them all to walk into town to find out where they could get replacement ration books for Helena and the children.
Helena was reluctant.
‘I’ll never make it up and down that hill. My legs won’t manage it. Can we take the car?’
‘That’s a waste of petrol. I don’t think there’s much left in the tank. And I’m not very good at driving, so I’d really rather not.’
‘Can’t we go tomorrow?’
Jilly sighed. ‘OK. You might have more energy then. And I expect there’ll be endless queues today. We’ve got enough food to keep us going for the time being. We won’t starve just yet.’
Helena seemed nervous and on edge.
‘I’m so tired,’ she said. ‘Dot kept me awake all night wriggling, and I was waiting. Waiting for the bombs. I didn’t sleep a wink.’
‘Go and have a lie down. I’ll look after the children.’
‘Would you?’ Helena shut her eyes. ‘I just need to rest. I keep feeling dizzy.’
Jilly sat in her mum’s armchair and pulled Dot onto her lap.
‘I don’t mind. Honestly. Go and have half an hour.’
Later, Ivy came into the kitchen to find Jilly fast asleep with Dot in her lap and the bigger two playing out in the garden. She picked Dot up and Jilly woke with a start.
‘I was just looking after them while Helena has a rest.’
‘You’re the one that needs a rest,’ said Ivy. ‘You look exhausted. Go on – go and have a nap. I’ll look after this rabble.’
Ivy waited until Jilly had gone upstairs to her room and was asleep, then carted Dot up the next set of stairs. She rapped on the door of Helena’s room and walked in without waiting for a reply. Helena sat up in bed, startled. She’d taken off the dress and laid it carefully over the back of a chair, and was just in a slip. She crossed her arms over her chest.
‘Oi! What are you doing in here?’
Ivy plonked Dot on the bed, who rolled over next to her mum and stared balefully up at Ivy.
‘I’ve come to say I’m sorry for being horrible,’ Ivy told her.
‘Oh.’ Helena looked wary. ‘Well. That’s all right.’
‘Jilly’s my best friend, you know. I’ve known her since I was Julie’s age.’
‘That’s a long time.’
‘And there’s something you should know.’ Ivy sat down on the bed. ‘Jilly lost her mum and dad Saturday night in the bombing. She’s being bloody brave and bloody kind and I get upset.’
‘She lost her parents?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I didn’t know. She never said.’ Helena looked distressed.
A Family Recipe Page 16
