Then he stopped, nonplussed by their stony silence, wondering what he had said wrong.
‘It does mean war, doesn’t it?’ Bobby asked, suddenly doubtful.
His mother put her face in her hands and burst into tears.
Chapter Sixteen
Sunshine warmed the back of Sara’s head and shoulders as she walked back from church with Ida and Marina. Reverend Hodgson had prayed that war might be averted even at this late hour and Marina was talking about the practice air-raid precautions that had taken place at school.
‘Nancy Bell forgot her gas mask,’ Marina crowed. ‘She got a right telling off from Mr Charles. Went home in tears.’
Sara saw people streaming out of St Teresa’s and struggled to maintain an impassive face as she remembered Domenica among the throng as well as some of the faces she recognised from the wedding. She wondered what occasion had brought them back together again and whether Domenica was enjoying married life in Sunderland. There was no sign of Joe, but there was a short-haired Rosa in a becoming red hat. The Dimarcos stood close together, absorbed in conversation. Then they climbed into the family van and disappeared.
Aunt Ida switched on the wireless as she busied herself preparing for Sunday lunch. Sara automatically set to peeling vegetables. It would be the last time she did this mundane job for her aunt, as she would be leaving on Friday, Mrs Sergeant having insisted she work a week’s notice. The yard was empty of dogs and Marina was attempting to cross-skip in the mellow sunshine. Catching her foot in the rope, she fell and grazed her knees, rushing into the kitchen with a wail of noise. As Ida fussed and placated, Sara realised Prime Minister Chamberlain’s clipped voice was coming over the air waves.
‘… at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.’
‘Shush, Aunt Ida!’ Sara ordered.
‘… I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received - and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.’
Sara and her aunt looked at each other in awe. Then as the words sunk in, the doom-laden wail of an air-raid siren vibrated on the wireless. Ida grabbed Marina and hugged her fiercely.
‘Stop it!’ the young girl protested.
Sara, not waiting to ask permission, bolted out of the back door and rushed into the lane.
Children played, dogs barked, a wasp droned overhead. Running down the street she saw others come to their doors and look up as if they would see the spectre of German planes darkening the bright sky.
‘Ack-ack-ack!’ two children dashed past her imitating dive bombers. Sara did not know where she was going, she just kept running as if she could escape the dreadful foreboding that gripped her. Her brother Tom would have to fight now and she must see him again before… Sara ran on into the dene and up the steep bank on the far side to the allotments. An old pitman was working in his garden, wheezing between giant chrysanthemums. He pushed up his cap and called a greeting, but Sara could not stop. She did not want to spoil his peaceful world with the dreadful news.
Slowing to a walk, she entered the woods and tore at some unripe blackberries. They tasted bitter and she spat them out in disgust. When she reached the kissing gate, Sara stopped, leaned on its warm sun-bleached wood and waited.
A while later, footsteps approached, and Sara watched in hope that the same restlessness might have seized Joe and drawn him up here. But the steps were too light, the figure between the trees too slight.
‘Rosa!’ Sara cried in astonishment. The girl stopped in her tracks and looked up warily. ‘You’ve heard…?’
‘Yes,’ Rosa’s voice was dismal.
‘Why are you out on your own?’ Sara asked.
Rosa hesitated. This was the place she had come to with Emilio on the day they had first met and fallen in love, but she could not say so.
‘They’re all arguing at home,’ she answered, ‘Uncle Davide is here - and Domenica. Oh, Sara, I’m frightened,’ she gave way to sudden tears. ‘Domenica is leaving for Italy this week!’
Sara moved forward at once and put an arm around her friend, forgetting their estrangement at the sight of her distress and found herself listening to Rosa’s story of Emilio, her visit to Sunderland and the family tearing itself apart over whether to leave with the Perellas or stay to face the uncertain future.
‘Surely you won’t all go?’ Sara asked in dismay.
Rosa sniffed. ‘Uncle Davide and Papa have decided to stay - but Pasquale and Domenica don’t think it’s safe. Pasquale’s father is an important man in our community and he has been a supporter of Mussolini, a loyal Italian. They have chosen to go home. Emilio has no choice but to leave, too.’ Rosa broke down again.
‘And your parents won’t let you go with him?’ Sara stated the obvious.
Rosa nodded. ‘Mamma is in a terrible state about Domenica and now Granny Maria says she wants to go home, too. Paolo has only agreed to stay because Papa was so insistent we should not run away.’
‘What does Joe think?’ Sara’s voice was tentative. Rosa glanced up.
‘Nothing will make him leave Whitton Grange,’ she answered.
Sara sighed with relief and they exchanged awkward looks.
‘Rosa,’ Sara asked shyly, ‘will you give Joe a message - tell him I need to see him?’
Rosa’s resentment rekindled. It was Sara and Joe’s illicit meetings that had started the family bickering and she was not sure that any good would come of acting as their messenger. ‘Oh, Sara, why didn’t you tell me about you and Joe?’ Rosa reproved. ‘It was such a shock - I thought you were going with Raymond, that’s why I didn’t—’
‘Raymond?’ Sara spluttered. ‘He’s far too young for me!’ She saw Rosa flush and all at once remembered that Rosa and Raymond had been fond of each other. Without realising it she had spoilt their tentative friendship.
‘I’m sorry, Rosa,’ Sara was filled with regret. ‘I should have told you. I really wanted to - but Joe wouldn’t let me - he said you wouldn’t understand. And he was right - none of your family wanted me to see him.’
‘I would have understood,’ Rosa insisted, ‘I know what it’s like to be in love. But you used me, pretending to be my friend, yet all the time just wanting to see Joe. And you can’t blame my parents - your uncle said such terrible things to them.’
‘Do you really think I could have been so callous as to pretend to like you just for Joe’s sake?’ Sara demanded hotly, hands on hips. ‘You were the best friend I had in Whitton until you took your parents’ side in all this. Don’t you think that hurt me? Why is everyone so against Joe and me?’
Rosa capitulated. ‘Don’t let’s argue any more,’ she said wearily.
Sara’s indignation subsided at the sight of her strained, unhappy face. After a pause she said, ‘Haway, let’s walk up on the Common and see if the Germans are coming.’ She tried to make light of their fear and they linked arms and climbed the path together.
At the top Rosa asked, ‘What will you do now?’
Sara sighed. ‘I’m going back home on Friday to help out on the farm. Mam’s had a fall and can’t manage the farmhouse. The Cummingses want me out - pretending they’re going to take in an evacuee. That’s why I want to see Joe before I go.’
Rosa was dashed by the news. No sooner were they reconciled than this wretched war was going to finish their friendship once more.
‘But you’ll come back, won’t you?’ she asked.
Sara shrugged, asking herself if there was anything to come back for.
They gazed down at the tranquil village, lying in the dip of the valley veiled in smoke from coal fires. ‘Uncle Alfred won’t have me in the house again - he’s been looking for an excuse to get rid of me since the bother over Joe. I’m a wicked influence on his angelic Marina,’ Sara said ironically.
‘We’ll keep in touch?’ Rosa looked for reassurance. ‘You can write to me sometimes.’
‘Aye, and you,’ Sara squeezed her arm. ‘I hope Emilio c
omes for you.’
‘He will - we are promised to each other.’ Rosa’s face shone with a passionate hope. ‘He must come.’
But no word came from Emilio. While Rosa fretted over his non-appearance, she delayed in giving Joe Sara’s message, certain that if her parents knew she was attempting to bring them together again, they would deny her any last chance to leave with Emilio. On Tuesday, a telegram arrived from Pasquale bidding Domenica return to Sunderland; the Perellas had secured an earlier sailing and they must leave the next day. Rosa was distraught at the thought that Emilio might leave without her. The Dimarcos braced themselves for the parting with Domenica and Granny Maria. Anna Dimarco clung to her daughter in tears of distress.
‘You will write, my pussetta, and tell us how you are getting on?’
‘Of course, Mamma.’ Domenica hugged her tearfully.
‘And look after your nonna? She is becoming forgetful.’ Domenica nodded. She turned to Rosa and they embraced.
‘Tell Emilio I will wait for him,’ Rosa croaked, ‘no matter how long…’
‘Yes,’ Domenica agreed quickly, engulfed with guilt at having fostered the romance in the first place, ‘I’ll tell him.’ She broke away and faced Joe.
‘Ta-ra then,’ he said awkwardly. ‘But I’m sure you’ll be back shortly to boss us all about.’ Domenica stepped forward and gave him a hug.
‘Look after the family, Joe, especially Mamma.’ She wanted to say something about Sara, but did not know what, still believing such a match would be doomed.
‘We’ll be champion. Take care, pet.’ He squeezed her briefly, then let go. Outside the parlour where a small crowd had gathered to watch the distressed leave-taking, Paolo was helping his grandmother into the van. Domenica left the parlour at Pit Street for the final time, glancing up at its familiar gold lettering and striped awning that flapped a farewell in the breeze. Her father was trying to persuade his mother to reconsider but the old woman was calmly fatalistic.
‘When the time comes, I want to be buried in my mountains,’ she told him in the old tongue, ‘among my people. The saints keep you safe, my dear Arturo,’ she smiled sadly and touched him on his leathery cheek.
Rosa saw her father gulp back his emotions as they kissed on each cheek. But when Domenica threw her arms around his neck, the tears flooded on to his face. Paolo revved the engine to cut short the agony of parting and a minute later the van was roaring down the street with everyone waving and shouting encouragement. Joe turned to see Rosa running back inside, unable to bear the thought of not going with them, puzzled that she had avoided him these past few days when he had spoken up for her and Ernilio.
For the rest of the day she lay in the room she once shared with Domenica and Nonna Maria and sobbed inconsolably.
Sergeant’s was busy all week, as villagers stocked up on tinned food and Mrs Sergeant did a brisk trade in pitch paper for blacking out windows. On Wednesday afternoon, Mrs Sergeant allowed Sara the rest of the day off to go with her aunt to the Memorial Hall to help with the arrival of over two hundred school children and their teachers from Tyneside. They swarmed off the special trains laid on to bring them to Whitton Station, some chattering and inquisitive, others pale and anxious at the alien surroundings, clutching pillowcases full of their meagre possessions and labelled like cargo.
To Sara’s delight, Louie Ritson was among the helpers and, in the general confusion of noise and bustle, she was able to slip away from her aunt in the makeshift dining-room to help Louie in the kitchen.
‘We’re taking in a little laddie from Gateshead,’ Louie told her excitedly.
‘Lucky young fellow,’ Sara smiled, knowing how Louie delighted in the company of young people and wondering why she had never had children of her own.
‘Bright as buttons this lot,’ Louie jerked her head at the din in the hall, ‘singing “Down Mexico Way” when they came in on the trains!’
‘Where will they all go?’ Sara asked, overwhelmed by the numbers.
‘We’ll find room for them, poor little pets. Our lad’ll share the upstairs with Raymond and me da. I’m sorry you haven’t been to see us,’ Louie said frankly and Sara gave a brief outline of her troubles, while stirring the hot soup and confirmed what Louie had gathered from Raymond and a tight-lipped Joe.
‘I haven’t seen that much of Joe, either,’ Louie told her. ‘He’s had problems at home - young Rosa getting herself all upset over a lad and his other sister and nana going back to Italy.’
‘Aye,’ Sara sighed, ‘I heard.’
‘And you, pet?’ Louie asked.
‘I’m off home Friday,’ she said rather sadly, explaining about her mother.
Louie did not like to see the young girl so dejected. ‘Come round and see us before you go - and to hell with what your aunt and uncle say!’
Sara was startled by the woman’s vehemence. Then she laughed, ‘Ta, Mrs Ritson, I will.’
***
Marina watched Sara pack her small suitcase. Now that the time had come to leave, Sara’s relief was mingled with regret. She had even been touched by Mrs Sergeant’s parting gift of a 1935 Jubilee tea caddy and the elderly woman’s grumbling appreciation for her work. Tomorrow night she would not be able to look out of the small bedroom window and glimpse the entrance to Dimarco’s parlour or hear the sounds of the street beyond. How quiet Rillhope would seem after these months in the town. Sara realised, suddenly, that she had grown fond of noise.
‘Are you coming back?’ Marina asked, her face moody.
‘Your dad’ll not have me,’ Sara told her, ‘so that should please you.’
‘Who says it does?’ Marina was petulant. ‘I’ll just have to share with some smelly girl from Gateshead instead - and it’s all your fault.’
Sara could not help smiling. ‘Well, that’s a surprise.’ She closed the drawer which had held her belongings, carefully slipping into her bag a photograph taken at a fair of her and Joe standing behind bawdy cardboard figures. How happy we looked, she thought with longing. Sniffing made her look up. Marina’s head was bowed and her shoulders shaking.
She turned in surprise to see her cousin crying. ‘What’s wrong now?’ she crossed to the bed.
‘It’s my fault you’re going, isn’t it?’ Marina mumbled. ‘And I don’t want you to go.’
Sara put her arms around the young girl in bewilderment. ‘It’s not your fault - I just don’t get along with your mam and dad.’
‘No, it’s because I found that book under your mattress and gave it to Dad and I didn’t mean to get you into trouble but you were going to go to the wedding without me and it didn’t seem fair…’ she blubbered.
Sara looked at her in shock. So it was Marina who had caused the trouble and not Colin as she had assumed, and all because of Domenica’s wedding! Yet she was the one who had encouraged Marina’s interest in the Dimarcos, so how could she blame the silly girl?
Sara held her close and rocked her, half pitying, half vexed with the awkward child. ‘That can’t be helped now,’ she told her. ‘There’s no need to cry.’
Gradually, as the sobbing subsided, Sara loosened her hold but Marina clung on to her. ‘Will you sing me a song before you go, Sara?’
‘Which one?’
‘Bobby Shafto,’ the girl said in a meek voice. ‘Your sister’s favourite.’
Aunt Ida was drawing the newly sewn blackout curtains when Sara slipped out of the house. Uncle Alfred was out and her aunt did not try to stop her, seeing little point in confrontation now that her niece was going. Sara scouted the streets for sight or sound of Joe and his motorbike, but it was eerily quiet, with the picture house closed and only ARP wardens about their business.
Growing desperate she approached Dimarco’s and, peering in, saw Paolo serving in the almost deserted cafe. Sara took a deep breath and entered.
‘I want to see Joe,’ she told him directly.
Paolo showed little surprise though his look was cautious.
‘To say
goodbye,’ she added. ‘I’m going home tomorrow.’
His gaze softened and his slow smile lifted the trim moustache. ‘You’ll find him at the Ritsons.’
Sara retreated, not wanting to linger. As she left she heard him add softly, ‘Good luck in the future, Sara.’
‘Ta,’ she smiled briefly, ‘and to you.’
Joe had gone across the back lane to the water closet after an hour of drinking Louie Ritson’s tea. Dusk was settling on the rows of terraces and evening birds called sleepily from the rooftops. The door of the Ritsons’ kitchen was ajar because no one was yet used to the idea of shutting in the cracks of light. Joe lingered in the yard, thinking of Domenica setting sail for the Continent and feeling gloomy over Louie’s news that Sara was leaving too. As the censorious Jacob Kirkup was inside, Joe had not dared light a cigarette. He lit one now and leaned against the brick wall in the shadows. Why had Sara not tried to contact him herself? he fretted. He had made it clear on the night of his sister’s wedding that he cared for her in spite of what his family said. How he regretted the way they had argued and his own cowardly reaction to family pressure not to see her!
He would go round to the Cummingses’ now, bang on their door and demand to talk to her, Joe thought with resolution. It would be his last chance and he had to know how she felt about him. But as he ground his cigarette out beneath his boot, Joe was suddenly aware that the Ritsons were talking about Sara again.
‘It seems such a shame,’ Louie was saying. ‘What’s there for a lass to do up Weardale?’
‘Doesn’t surprise me she wants to gan,’ Raymond was saying. ‘What’s there to stay for around here? Not working for the Sergeant-Major, that’s for sure. She’s never really liked Whitton - thinks it’s a dirty old place.’
‘But her and Joe…’ Louie sighed. ‘It’s not right the way they’ve been kept apart, is it, Sam?’
Joe heard Sam grunt. ‘Not the way it’s put him off his boxing.’
‘Be serious,’ Louie chided. ‘He’s not a happy lad - he misses the lass - I told her so in the shop.’
Durham Trilogy 02. The Darkening Skies Page 26
