by June Francis
Flags soon appeared like so many lines of washing up and down the street. Next door to Flora, Mrs Bryce’s upper window sprouted the Stars and Stripes. Flora was not really surprised. She only wondered what would happen when Mr Bryce came home from Egypt.
Tables were lined up in the middle of the road. Everybody was providing something. Flora opened a tin of sardines and mashed them to make butties. A feast was prepared as if by magic. Jam, spam, fish butties, cakes and jellies. There were even a few sweets and chocolates for the children, as well as lemonade.
Bonfires were lit and soon a piano was tinkling out tunes reminiscent of the Great War: ‘Tipperary’, ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’. Someone had an accordion, and Little Paddy produced a fiddle, to play tunes that set feet tapping. Then the piano took over again to play heart-tugging Vera Lynn songs. ‘Yours’, ‘White Cliffs of Dover’ and ‘We’ll Meet Again’. A surge of hope bubbled inside her as she remembered what one of the women had said at the Pier Head – her son was a prisoner-of-war. Maybe Tom had escaped the shell somehow and been captured by the enemy?
She swayed in the firelight, nursing Rosie who was almost asleep, singing along softly.
Sleep did not come easy that night. There was the murmur of voices through the wall from next door and Flora felt angry, hearing the deeper tones of a man. How could Mrs Bryce do what she did?
Gradually she drifted off, only to wake with a start as the van’s horn sounded beneath the bedroom window. She forced unwilling eyelids open. In the single bed against the wall, Rosie began to whimper. Flora’s heart sank as she slid out of the double bed and made her way unsteadily across the darkened room. She had to struggle with the sash window before she could open it to stick out her tousled head. ‘I won’t be a mo’,’ she whispered.
‘Okay, luv.’ The capped head of Joe the driver withdrew.
Flora’s groping fingers found her clothing and she hurriedly dressed, conscious of Rosie’s eyes on her. ‘Go back to sleep, love’ She slipped her feet into the well-worn shoes, easing the cardboard inner sole. ‘Mammy’s just going down to light the fire.’
‘Don’t want to sleep.’ Rosie pushed back the covers, her round flushed face determined. ‘Come and help Mam.’
‘No!’ Flora’s voice was sharper than she intended. It was one thing leaving her children fast asleep and oblivious of her absence; another having them watch her leave. ‘You’ll do as you’re told.’
Rosie’s bottom lip quivered. ‘I want to come with you.’
‘No!’ Flora knew that the clock was ten minutes fast but that still meant she was late, and she could not afford to lose her job. ‘Mammy has to go,’ she said gently. ‘Stay here, Rosie.’
Her daughter silently watched her go out of the room.
When Flora came back from the lavatory Rosie was in the kitchen, curled up on the rug with the cat. Feeling flurried, Flora said nothing as she took her jacket from the hook on the door. Rosie got up hurriedly. ‘Mam!’
Flora did not look at her as she opened the door. Guilt and panic were tearing her apart. A fine mother she was, leaving her child. Any moment now Rosie would start crying. The door opened behind her and her daughter’s pattering feet followed after her. Flora hesitated and turned round. ‘Go back to bed, Rosie,’ she ordered quietly, then she opened the front door and closed it swiftly. It did not shut off Rosie’s roar as the child flung herself against it.
The van’s horn hooted again and Flora lifted her eyes. Joe beckoned her and she hurried down the step. As the vehicle raced up the street she could no longer hear Rosie’s cries, yet they echoed in her ears, rebuking her. It isn’t right, she thought fiercely. I shouldn’t be leaving her! If only Tom … But he was not there. The thought pained her as much as did leaving her children. But she had to accept that she alone could provide for them now.
It was on her way back from work that Flora collided with the American coming out of Mrs Bryce’s path. For a moment his gaze rested on her tired face, than he ran his eyes over her slight figure, bringing an angry flush to her cheeks. She felt like saying, ‘Was it you last night who disturbed my sleep? If it goes on I’ll lose my job, and I’ve got kids to feed. I’m really fed up with you Yanks!’ But she only stared at him coldly as he winked and raised his cap, and wished her a beautiful morning before strolling down the street. She wondered savagely if all Yanks were the same when away from home. They had a helluva reputation! Although she knew that it was not only American soldiers that behaved like this one. She turned the key in the lock and went into the house.
‘Where’ve you been?’ George’s voice accused Flora of neglect. ‘Our Rosie’s been screaming the place down and Mrs Bryce banged on the wall.’
‘Did she now?’ Flora’s eyes smouldered. ‘Don’t you mind her. If she says anything to you about this, I’ll have a word or two to say to her about her keeping me awake nights. Now where’s Rosie?’
‘In bed.’ He scratched his head and frowned. ‘I made her get back in – but I was too wide awake so I lit the fire.’
Flora sank on to a chair. ‘You’re a good lad, I haven’t told you before but I’ve got a job. Just two hours each morning, sorting papers out. There’s a couple in my bag, and a comic if you’d like a read. I thought there was no point in worrying you about me being out of the house, but now the days are getting longer I don’t think you’ll be scared. I suppose I should have told you.’
‘It’s alright, Mam,’ he said roughly, shrugging his shoulders impatiently. His mouth set in a way that caused her a pang of anguish. He was so young to shoulder responsibility, and so like Tom! The war had made him old beyond his years. He scuffed his shoe on the rug. ‘I’ll be able to look after Rosie while you’re at work. Are we very hard up?’
‘We’ll manage if we’re careful,’ she responded brightly. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about. If you can just keep Rosie happy in the mornings if she wakes – although you need your sleep. I don’t want you nodding off in class and missing lessons.’
‘I won’t. Sir would throw something at me if I did, and I’d soon wake up then. Don’t you worry, Mam.’ He tilted his chin, his eyes bright. His hand stretched out for the papers she had brought and he walked stiffly over to the armchair that had been his dad’s. He was the man of the house now and had to help his mam all he could. His eyes perused the picture of a crowded Trafalgar Square, and for a moment he thought of how his dad wouldn’t be coming home, and then he put down the paper and picked up the comic and began to read that instead.
Some of the tension oozed out of Flora and she made tea and toast for them both. Upstairs she found Rosie sprawled across the bedcover fast asleep. Later she would take her to the park, certain that would tire her out. And tomorrow morning she hoped that she would be able to creep out without any fuss from her daughter.
Rosie was a monster! A lovable monster, but a monster nonetheless. For the last four nights she had refused to settle. Even now past midnight she was still awake, humming some tune to herself. Flora knew that if she got out of bed then her daughter would quieten immediately, but when she got back in again Rosie would begin to hum. Eventually her daughter would go to sleep but she was staying awake long enough for Flora not to go off till the early hours. Twice she had not heard the van horn being sounded and Joe had had to bang on the knocker. He had warned her that the third time would be the last. It was not that he was unsympathetic but the other women were complaining.
Flora determined to ignore her daughter, but once she did her thoughts were on Mrs Bryce next door, and the man whose laughter had prevented her from getting to sleep till late last night. She had not been able to stop herself from imagining what was taking place, and it caused such an ache inside her body. Was the man the one she had seen a few mornings ago? She had not seen him since and was glad of it.
Turning on her stomach Flora dragged a pillow over her head, praying that all would be quiet next door that night. Tom filled her thoughts and she remembered the nights they
had spent in this bed making love, and of the years of war that had kept them apart. She began to cry softly.
Suddenly Flora realised that Rosie had quietened but now she could hear the slightest murmur of voices. She tried to set her mind on sleep but pictures kept coming into her head. Heat seared her body and she lay there rigid, trying to empty her mind, but she was still awake when dawn came and with it the van.
All was quiet when she returned home later that morning, not even George was stirring. She lit the fire and put her feet up, and had a cup of tea before going to wake the children. She felt a little better if weary, but was hopeful that the peace signalled a change for the better in Rosie’s behaviour.
The change was short-lived, lasting three days only. Flora had managed to grab some sleep but it was not undisturbed. A stranger had invaded her dreams. So far she had kept him at arm’s length, shocked that she could dream of another man with Tom in her heart. She blamed the American and Mrs Bryce, and wished that she could have had another adult in the house to talk to about her problems.
The next day it rained. Flora’s spirits sank even lower. When she heard a hammering on the door she thought it was someone coming to complain about George playing football in the street again. She was ready to defend him as she marched down the hall.
‘Well! Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ demanded her sister crossly. ‘I’ve had a terrible journey on the tram. I had to stand all the way, and then there was the walk up the lane in the rain. One of the strings on the bags snapped, and Viv was no use at all. Whinge, whinge, all the way up the lane.’ She dumped the brown paper bags on the step and stared intently at Flora. ‘You look terrible! What’s happened?’
‘Tom is missing presumed dead.’ Her voice almost broke.
For a moment Hilda did not speak. Her blue eyes sparkled with tears. Then she shook herself. ‘Well, don’t you go letting yourself go to pieces! No man’s worth it,’ she said harshly. ‘Can we come in?’
‘Of course!’ said Flora, squaring her shoulders. ‘You just took me by surprise. You’ve never written and I haven’t known where you were since you went off while I was away with the kids, seeing Tom.’
‘It was Father’s fault as usual. He came to visit you, and found me and Viv.’ Hilda’s mouth tightened. ‘The old swine! The things he said to me – not that I hadn’t heard them all before. But to go on and on about Mother and how I’d besmirched the family’s good name! Mother cared for me – she would never have thrown me out of the house in the first place.’ Her eyes glinted with tears again.
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t have.’ Flora did not remember their mother as well as Hilda, and her memories were mainly of a tired, pretty woman lying in bed most of the time with Aunt Beattie, or one of the neighbours, a constant visitor when her father was not there. ‘But come in.’ She held out a hand to Vivien. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages. You were only a babe when you left this house, pet.’
Hilda’s red mouth pouted. ‘She’s no pet – she’s a pest. But then, you’ve always liked kids. Crazy!’
Flora picked up one of the bags, and took Vivien’s hand. ‘Have you come to stay for a while?’
‘I thought you might like some company.’ Hilda dropped the bags just inside the kitchen and her eyes roamed the brown-painted walls of the shabby room. ‘I’d forgotten how small this place was,’ she murmured, frowning. ‘But at least I won’t have Doris moaning at me all the time.’ She sank into an armchair near the fireplace, ignoring Rosie’s presence on the rug. Dragging off the navy blue felt hat that had sat at an angle on her red-gold hair, she threw it in the direction of the hook on the door. It missed, and Flora picked it up to place it on the sideboard.
‘Is that why you’re here – because you’ve fallen out with your friend?’
‘No.’ Hilda lowered her eyes and toyed with her nails. ‘I just wondered how you were getting on.’ She lifted her head and their eyes met. ‘What happened about Tom? I always believed him the kind to make it, somehow.’
‘A shell exploded. They never found any traces of him but they’re pretty sure he’s dead.’ A muscle quivered in Flora’s cheek.
‘Sod it.’ Hilda put her head back and closed her eyes. ‘What a way to go. But it’d be quick. He’d never know anything about it.’
‘I suppose not.’ Her voice was unsteady. ‘I haven’t thought about it much. I keep thinking that he could still be alive – that maybe he escaped somehow.’
Hilda opened her eyes and looked at her. ‘You always were a dreamer, Flo. It’s no good fooling yourself by believing such things! Wake up, girl, and look at life as it really is,’ she said bitterly. ‘It often slaps you in the face, but you just have to keep on going.’
A sharp laugh escaped Flora. ‘What d’you think I’ve been doing, sitting back and taking it easy? I’ve got two kids and I’ve had to get myself a job. I’m glad you’re here because it means that I won’t have to worry any more about leaving them alone early mornings.’ She picked up the kettle and put it on the fire. ‘Cup of tea?’ she asked the silent Hilda.
‘Thanks,’ murmured her sister, taking out a packet of Players and lighting up. ‘I’ll get myself a job too. I’ll try Ogden’s. It should work out, the two of us together again. The girls will be company for each other – they’re much of an age.’ She gazed down at the glowing tip of her cigarette, eased off her shoes and held her toes to the fire. ‘I’ll give you something for my keep.’ Her voice was carefully casual. ‘But we can discuss that later.’
Flora nodded briefly, not allowing herself a moment of uncertainty. She had wished for another grown up in the house, and she had got what she wanted. Recalling the last time her sister stayed with her would do neither of them any good. Maybe Hilda had changed since she had been away. ‘You’ve brought your ration books?’ she murmured.
‘Oh, aye! I’ll give them to you, Flo. I don’t really understand points and all that. But you tell me if there’s anything you want me to do,’ said Hilda absently, switching on the wireless. ‘I’m always prepared to pull my weight.’ She closed her eyes, jiggled a foot to the music that poured out, and began to hum tunelessly.
Flora stared at her before going into the back kitchen, her mind now busy with planning how to stretch tonight’s meal to feed two more. It wasn’t going to be easy and George would probably complain because there’d be less for him to eat. She could see a few difficulties ahead.
Chapter Three
Sorting out the practicalities of Hilda’s moving in took no time at all, although her sister grouched at having to share the same room with Flora and the two girls. Afterwards she bounced into the little back room and threw up her arms. ‘You have this perfectly good room going spare! You should get it sorted out, Flo. It’d be perfect for me!’
‘There has been a war on and it’d take money to do it up,’ said Flora fiercely. Her eyes darkened. ‘Besides this was Tom’s special place where he used to let himself go. He did some good painting and drawing.’
‘He mucked about,’ said Hilda disparagingly, picking up a canvas and narrowing her eyes as she looked at it. ‘I’ll give you that he could paint a pretty picture, but this doesn’t look a bit like me when I was young.’ She tossed it on the floor.
Flora snatched it up and gazed at it. ‘That’s because it isn’t you,’ she muttered. ‘It’s me.’
Hilda gazed at the delicate lines of water colour again. ‘I should have known. You were real skinny.’ She walked out of the room.
Flora ground her teeth, carefully placing the picture against the wall. She fingered a paint brush, a pencil; gazed at a sketch of a lamp post in Rodney Street and a couple of cartoons. She went out with tears wet on her cheeks. It had been hard to believe that the girl of eighteen with smiling eyes and rounded cheeks was herself, or that the artist might never return again.
The house settled into a new routine. Rosie welcomed the advent of a cousin, someone to play houses and shops with indoors, and to skip and throw balls at wal
ls outside. She stopped keeping Flora awake nights.
But Hilda’s coming provided Flora with different problems. A couple of weeks went by before her sister gave her any money and then it was barely enough to feed Hilda, never mind Vivien. But Flora took it with a word of thanks, not liking to ask just how much Hilda was earning. She guessed it was much more than she did, but thought that maybe Hilda had debts she might have had to pay off at this Doris’s she had mentioned. Not everybody was as soft as herself. But when Hilda started going out a couple of evenings she wondered whether her sister was taking her for a ride again. The two evenings out became three, then four, five, and the only time Hilda seemed to be in was when she was washing her hair.
Flora began to resent her sister using her as a child minder and chief cook, washer and cleaner. It had never been easy for her to stand up to Hilda. There was five years’ difference in age between them, and in their younger days at Aunt Beattie’s her sister had expected her to remain biddable at all times. And Flora, shy, insecure child that she was after her mother died, had done exactly what she wanted, adoring her because she was all that Flora was not – lovely and lively.
Thinking of their younger days made Flora feel less resentful, and besides it wasn’t all bad. There were times when the two sisters got on well enough.
One day they were lying on the warmed stone roof of the outside lavatory, drying their hair in the sun and watching what appeared to be members of the League of Nations going in next door and sliding out again.
‘Norwegian sailor, Polish soldier and American airman,’ whispered Hilda with a giggle. ‘I don’t know how she does it. How does word get round? She doesn’t have a lamp over her front door.’
