The lorry drivers left the café after a few more minutes and Bonnie ordered another cup of tea, making it last as long as she could before she walked out into the street. It was still light and a beautiful evening, the relative quietness so different from London where the V-ls continued their deadly assault. Nevertheless, the ravages of war were reflected in the bombsites and burned-out buildings that were everywhere, as in all the major cities of Britain. The government were already talking about plans to build three or four million houses in the first decade after the war, stating that houses would be bigger, with three bedrooms, well-equipped kitchens, better heating arrangements and constant hot water, but as Annie had said when she’d read the report about the Ministry of Health’s ‘Design of Dwellings’ in the newspaper, let’s concentrate on winning the war and getting the men and women in the forces home first.
Bonnie took her time walking back to Nelly’s. She got lost once or twice and had to ask her way, but it didn’t matter. She was in no hurry, after all. She wanted to give Nelly and Thomas plenty of time.
Twilight was falling as she walked into the back lane for the second time that day, and as she looked down the length of it she saw Nelly standing at her gate. Nelly came towards her the moment she saw her, calling, ‘I’ve been so worried, it’s getting late. Thomas is out looking for you on his bike.’ And as she reached Bonnie, she hugged her hard, saying, ‘I’m so glad to see you.’
‘I wanted to give you and Thomas time.’
‘I know, he said. Oh, Bonnie.’ Nelly hugged her again. ‘I’m glad you told him to talk to me. He’s been so different lately, withdrawn and snappy, not like my Thomas at all. I put it down to the pressure of his schoolwork, I must admit.’ Thomas was in the top five per cent at the private school Nelly sent him to but he didn’t enjoy school life or being stuck in a classroom.
They had started to walk on but now Nelly stopped. ‘We’ve talked things through, Bonnie, and I’ve told him everything.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I think it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. I felt . . . Well, you can imagine how I felt.’
‘How did he take it?’ Bonnie asked gently.
‘He’d guessed some of it already and he said it was a relief to know at last. I think he was disappointed Franco was dead. He said he would have liked to meet his father, even if it was only once.’ Nelly’s eyes filled up and she swallowed again. ‘I hope he’ll forgive me for that in time. We cried together and we’re all right, sort of.’ She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘I suppose I always knew this day would come and perhaps I should have told him the truth a long time ago. I hate to think he was so troubled that he went hunting for information secretly.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘I feel like the worst mother in the world tonight.’
‘Well, you’re not. You’re one of the best, believe me. And Thomas loves you very much, Nelly. You know that.’
‘But I’m no longer on the pedestal where every little boy puts his mother. I’ve got to learn to live with that.’
‘Thomas isn’t a little boy any more, Nelly. But knowing how much he loves you, he’ll work this through. It won’t crush him – he’s strong, like you. When you knew you were expecting a baby you didn’t try to get rid of it like lots of women would have done, and when he was born there was no question about giving him up so you could pretend it had never happened. He came home to a warm, safe, loving environment and a mother who has devoted her life to him. There are lots of bairns with two parents who don’t have a quarter of the security and love Thomas has had, so keep this in perspective. I know it’s hard but there are a lot worse things than growing up without a father.’
‘Thank you.’ Nelly smiled weakly. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re here today. What made you come, by the way? You’ve got a season starting at the Empire after the weekend, haven’t you?’
For a moment Bonnie wondered whether to tell her. Nelly had enough to cope with at the moment. But then it might help take her mind off Thomas to some extent, and if she was Nelly, she’d want to be told. ‘Let’s go inside and have a cup of tea and I’ll explain,’ she said quietly, hoping Thomas wouldn’t come home for a while. ‘I’ve got some news and it might be a shock.’
Once in the kitchen, Nelly plumped down on a chair and waved her hand for Bonnie to do the same. ‘I’ll get the tea in a minute. Tell me. You’re worrying me now.’
So Bonnie told her. And if she had ever been in any doubt that her father still held Nelly’s heart as irrevocably as ever, her friend’s reaction to the news that he was still alive would have put paid to it. They had cried and talked and cried some more when Nelly murmured, ‘Did – did he say anything about me?’
Bonnie had thought she might ask this, and she could say in all honesty, ‘Of course he did. In fact, you were the first person he asked after, Nelly, and he was so pleased we had found each other again when I explained. I told him you’re a widow with one child and that you had made a good life for yourself. He asked to be remembered to you, Nelly.’
Nelly stared at her, tears still welling up as she whispered, ‘To be so badly injured and so far from home. Oh, Bonnie, if you hear anything let me know at once, won’t you?’
‘The very minute, I promise.’
They talked some more until Thomas came home, and then the three of them ate a supper of fishcakes – salted cod that Nelly had mashed up with plenty of potato, vegetables and Worcester sauce – and the inevitable coarse brown bread with a scraping of margarine. They chatted about inconsequential things, each one aware that the atmosphere was a little strained.
Once ensconced in Nelly’s spare bedroom, Bonnie lay awake for a long time. It had been an emotional day all round, and she would have given the world to have Art lying at the side of her, to hear his deep, steady breathing, to be able to reach out and know he was there. Strangely, now that there was all this talk about the Allies taking ground and the end of the war being in sight, she felt more panicky about him being at the front line. To be so close to the possible end of fighting and constant danger and then for him to be badly hurt or worse would be the ultimate heartache. But there was nothing she could do about it and so she had to wait. Her life seemed to be all about waiting.
Nelly was thinking much the same thing in her room. She hadn’t bothered to get undressed because she knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink; her head was buzzing. She needed to sit quietly and think about what had happened today – about Thomas certainly, but mainly the news that John was alive. Terribly injured, and Bonnie had stressed the fact that her father might have lost his fight to live even before she had left Burma, but for all the endless years that she had been inwardly mourning John, he had been in the world. Eating, drinking, sleeping, laughing, living.
She looked down at her hands that were clenched in her lap and realized that, ecstatic as she was that he was alive, she was angry too. With him, with John. How could he have just decided to cast off his old life the way he had? How dared he? Bonnie had explained about his loss of memory in the first months he’d disappeared, and she understood about that, but once he’d been restored to his right mind, why hadn’t he swallowed his pride and feelings of shame and guilt and made himself known to his daughter? Poor Bonnie – she didn’t deserve to have suffered the way she had, thinking he was dead.
Poor Bonnie? her mind probed. Don’t you mean, poor you? You’re angry because he didn’t come back to you but he was never going to do that.
Nelly slid off the bed and began to pace. The room was hot and stuffy. The window was open but the thick, heavy blackout curtains let little of the night air through and she felt as though she was suffocating. She picked up her shoes and tiptoed onto the landing and down the stairs. Slipping her shoes on in the kitchen, she opened the back door and stepped outside. It was still warm, but there was a slight breeze, and she sat down on the edge of the container Thomas had built for their crop of potatoes, lifting her face to the sky.
It was a clear night. The stars twinkled
like so many diamonds and the moon shone brightly in the darkness. A night for lovers to whisper sweet nothings. She sighed. She loved John, she always would. There’d been more than one man over the years who’d made it plain they were interested and would be prepared to take Thomas on too, but she had never even had a drink with any of them. She had been desperately lonely at times, even with her darling Thomas and the dogs when they were alive, but lonely for John, not simply for someone to love her and look after her. And as Bonnie had talked to her and explained why her father had taken the jewellery and got mixed up with ne’er-do-wells, she had felt such sorrow that he couldn’t have fallen in love with her and told her what he wanted for Bonnie. She would have been able to set the three of them up in a little house together if they’d been married; Bonnie would have had a stepmother who adored her, and she and John might have had a little Thomas of their own. All their lives would have been so different.
She sat there in the warm night for more than a couple of hours battling her demons and working through a host of emotions. Rage, regret, humiliation, feelings of failure as a mother, remorse over her decision to keep Thomas from Franco and in the same breath fierce relief that she had, and overall the intense longing to see John again that had her bowing her head as scalding tears poured down her face. She wrestled with it all, and by the time she stood up and walked back into the house she was more at peace with herself. John would never love her. If, as she prayed, he survived his injuries and came back to England, she knew Bonnie wanted to provide a home for her father which meant that she might be able to feature in his life in some small way. But that was all. And it would be enough. To be able to talk to him occasionally, look into his eyes, see him smile and know he was happy, it would be enough. It might appear as crumbs from a rich man’s table to some, and maybe it was, but she had no pride where John was concerned.
For Thomas, all she could do was to show him the same love and devotion she always had and hope one day he would forgive her for the lies and deceit. She had offered him no excuses, nor would she; she was just so bitterly sorry that her son, her beloved son, was paying for what had been one night of madness.
In the kitchen, she looked to where the dogs’ baskets used to be and would have given everything she owned to have them back with her for one hour; to be able to cuddle them on her lap, see the adoration in their canine eyes and know that their love was unconditional. But they had long since gone and she had to face life in the present, even though tonight it tasted like ashes in her mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bonnie spent the weekend with Nelly and Thomas, returning to London on the Monday morning and starting work at the Empire that afternoon. Somehow, after her time in Manchester, the capital seemed noisier and more dangerous than ever, but it was where home was and that was that. And so she did the show at the Empire every evening along with matinees at the weekend, fitted in broadcasts and recording and visits to hospitals and army camps and the rest of it when she could, and found herself without a minute to brood which was just as well. Keeping busy helped to keep the fear for Art and her father at bay to some extent. She had received no news from Burma, but neither had she heard from Art for weeks, and by the time a further attack on London began with a new and terrible weapon that was far worse than the V-ls, terrifying the capital in September, she was convinced something bad had happened to Art.
The new weapon, V-2s, were long-range rockets carrying one-ton warheads; they added to the chaos and devastation caused by the flying bombs, giving no warning of their arrival except for a tearing sound like an express train as they landed vertically from heights of fifty miles or more. The first, which hit Chiswick in West London, caused a blast wave that could be felt for miles, and Annie, who had happened to be visiting a member of her family in the area at the time, had been blown clean off her feet and had returned to Kingston upon Thames covered in cuts and bruises but as defiant about Hitler and his Nazis as ever.
Amid reports that the Allies had swept across Belgium after liberating Paris and Marseilles, along with Florence in Italy in August, came news that Mr Churchill and President Roosevelt had resolved to shift the war effort to the Far East. This occurred a week after the first V-2s fell on London. The newspapers were full of the proposed destruction of the ‘barbarians of the Pacific’ and that Nazi Germany was nearing collapse, but with death raining down from the skies in London, Bonnie didn’t know what to believe. Everyone was aware that the power of propaganda had been used by both sides in the war, and like Annie said, if the Germans were doing so badly why were these ‘gaswork explosions’, as the government were maintaining the V-2s were, killing so many men, women and children?
She and Bonnie had been discussing the present situation one morning before Bonnie left for a radio broadcast, and as ever Annie put her finger on the pulse of the bewilderment felt by a lot of Londoners. ‘Daft as brushes, half of ’em in government are,’ she said with feeling. ‘They say all these explosions are down to gas to confuse the Germans, but them blighters know full well it’s what they’re sending over that’s causing them. And it just makes us ordinary folk at sixes and sevens, and wondering what other lies the government are telling. Gas explosions, my backside.’
Bonnie nodded her agreement as she finished her breakfast. The V-2s were much more frightening than the doodlebugs because you couldn’t hear them at all until it was too late, and the blind bombing of civilians by an invisible enemy was unnerving. As, she supposed, it was meant to be. But she agreed with Annie about the government and their stories; it didn’t exactly inspire confidence about anything that was in the newspapers or reported on the radio. She wanted to believe that the Germans were on the run throughout Europe and that knocking out Japan was the next job, but who really knew? One minute you heard one thing and then something else entirely the next. But one positive and undeniable fact was that the government had decided to relax the stringent blackout regulations and allow modified street lighting, along with railway stations being lit again, and trains and buses and trams. Some small children were seeing street lights for the first time in their lives. That had to be hopeful, didn’t it, after five years of darkness?
She said as much to Annie, who lowered her chin into her neck and made a noise in her throat that could have meant anything. Annie had been born in the roughest part of the East End and had her own opinion about the government and the police and any other authority, and it wasn’t commendatory.
It was drizzling with rain later, when Bonnie finished the radio broadcast and drove to the theatre. The matinee was at one o’clock, and she arrived in her dressing room with half an hour to spare. She sat applying her stage make-up which she preferred to do herself, but thinking about Art. She had a heaviness on her about him, that was the only way she could describe it, and she knew Annie was worried too. The fighting in Europe was so vicious and desperate. Thank goodness she had Annie to talk to.
Dear Annie, Bonnie thought fondly. And Hilda too. The pair of them had done as Annie had said and called in to see Selina and Cyril while she was in Manchester with Nelly, and since then had visited two or three times a week, giving Selina the motherly support and advice she needed. A sudden desire to see Selina herself came over her. She would pop to her little house for a cup of tea and a chat in between performances today, she decided. She’d have time as long as she didn’t stay too long and she wouldn’t bother to take off her stage make-up before she left the theatre, so all that would be needed would be a quick touch-up when she got back.
So it was, at just after four o’clock, Bonnie drew up outside Selina and Cyril’s terraced house, parking half on the pavement as the street was so narrow. She’d stopped to buy a little gift for the baby on the way; each time she called she took something, and this time it was a pair of beautifully soft cot blankets in primrose yellow with a white teddy bear embroidered in one corner.
Selina and Cyril had to keep to a tight budget, especially because his injuries meant
it was unlikely he would be able to return to his old job at the docks. Some weeks ago Bonnie had arranged for a lovely new cot, highchair and Silver Cross pram to be delivered to the house, with a note saying that as the baby’s godmother – Selina and Cyril had already asked her and Art to be godparents – she hoped they wouldn’t mind her taking such a liberty. The pair had been overcome, but as she had said to them, it was little enough to do. Her own bank balance was beyond healthy and Art was a rich man in his own right. It was easy for her to be open-handed, but true generosity, in Bonnie’s opinion, was when folk gave out of the little they had rather than a bounty of wealth.
Selina opened the door to her knock, Cyril standing just behind her on his crutches. His legs had been smashed up when his boat had been torpedoed, but if determination was anything to do with it he would be walking unaided in time.
The baby was due any day and Selina was huge; she fairly waddled ahead of Bonnie into the kitchen to make the tea. ‘I just want it out now,’ she grumbled once the three of them were sitting round the kitchen table – another Morrison shelter in disguise – with a cup of tea and a slice of Selina’s carrot cake in front of them. ‘I mean, how much bigger can I get before I burst?’
‘At least the weather’s a bit cooler now,’ Bonnie said comfortingly. The first half of September had been something of an Indian summer and had tried Selina sorely, but over the last days the temperature had dropped dramatically; there was a bite to the air even in the day and the nights were cold.
Selina nodded, swallowing a mouthful of carrot cake before she said, ‘I was just saying to Cyril this morning—’
Bonnie never did hear what Selina had said to Cyril. The next moment the house shuddered as an unimaginable noise ripped right through it, and as Cyril shouted, ‘Get down,’ the three of them slid off their chairs and scrambled into the Morrison shelter at which they’d been sitting. Cyril flung himself over his wife as the world seemed to explode, bricks and dust and glass covering the shelter as most of the upper part of the house collapsed on top of them. Through the deafening ringing in her ears Bonnie was conscious of Selina screaming, of the pounding noise on the shelter and Cyril shouting something she couldn’t make out, but her overall feeling was one of furious disbelief. To think she had driven her car here and there through the Blitz and come through unscathed, and travelled to Burma and back with all the dangers that entailed, only to be buried alive when the end of the war was in sight. It wasn’t fair. And Selina’s baby, it hadn’t even drawn breath, poor little mite. Instead of the terror she had expected to feel if anything like this happened, she felt murderously angry. With Hitler, with the Nazis, and with the Germans at the launch sites who were sending over the V-2s so indiscriminately.
A Winter Love Song Page 30
