‘Then they can buy them somewhere else today!’ And she actually smiled at him.
Chapter Thirty-four
There wasn’t a time when either of them thought, this is it – it’s all over, or experienced a flash of lightning. They just sort of grew back together. Neither acknowledged this, but they both knew that the barrier which Charlie had put between them was slowly being dismantled. Only when the time neared for Charlie to come home was it reconstructed – not by Rachel, but by the boy’s father. Russ could not and would not recognize Charlie as his son. Even though he cried over young Dobson, even though he celebrated when he heard that Jewitt was home safe and sound, even though he agonized over Bertie’s loss… the only way he saw Charlie was as the obstacle that prevented him and Rachel from getting back together. When, in December, a letter came from the boy, Russ hoped it was to say that Charlie was spending yuletide with his friend. He was disappointed; Charlie was coming home; there would be no Christmas reconciliation. One way or the other he had to get rid of the boy.
A trough of anti-climax had followed the Armistice. At first, there had been street parties and Union Jacks strung from door to door to welcome home their heroes… but those same heroes were now queueing outside the soup kitchens. Even those who had known the personal bereavement of war were just beginning to grasp the enormity of the aftermath: the blood and bones of almost an entire generation had been left behind to enrich the fields of Europe. And those who possessed only the tiniest amount of sensitivity saw that their world had changed; nothing would ever be the same again.
One of those for whom this realization was most acute was Russ’ sister May, whose husband had been killed an hour before the ceasefire. Since Russ’ confession she had never corresponded with him nor his wife, but once her tears dried she picked up her pen and scribbled a few poignant lines, ‘I do not even know if you are still alive, but I pray that you will be reading this with Rachel…’ Naturally, she had no idea about Bertie, for Russ had been too crazed to inform her; the mention of his son in her letter, as though he were still alive, brought tears to his eyes. At the foot of the letter the sentiment was expressed that ‘…We have to hang on to our loved ones who are left’, and she added that as soon as the hardships of war began to fade then he and his family must come for a holiday again, ‘…and if the boy is still with you then he must come too.’ Everyone, it seemed, was willing to accept Charlie. Everyone but Russ.
The General Election had been and gone. All that brouhaha about getting us the vote, Rachel had declared, and what happens – they return that rascal Lloyd George! But better this than the Labour crew. Naturally, after all her hard work, Ella had been bitterly disappointed at the result, but she swore that she and Jack would continue to fight on behalf of the Labour Party – and there had been consolation in the Council elections. Jack was to be next year’s Sheriff. On first hearing the news, Rachel had been stunned, but then she smiled and said convincingly, ‘Congratulations, Ella. It’s high time you had a bit of luck.’
‘Aye, you’re right there,’ Ella agreed. ‘But, you know, in spite of us losing the General Election, we’re off in the right direction, Rache. Mark my words, next time it’ll be Labour.’
Rachel merely smiled. ‘We might even see you in Parliament, Ella.’ A Bill had just been passed allowing females this distinction.
Ella wagged a playful finger. ‘Now, now! Many a true word, Rache…’
Rachel herself had voted Tory, for the simple reason that this was whom Russ backed. It was more a token of support for him, rather than a political gesture.
She paused in her knitting to arch her spine, caught his eye and smiled. ‘Ooh, I shall have to stop, my back’s killing me, and my eyes. Navy wool is bad enough to knit with in daylight but in this dinge it’s hopeless.’ The gas pressure was very low at the moment. ‘And you should stop as well, else you’ll be needing glasses.’ Russ had been straining his eyes over the evening newspaper. ‘Is there anything of interest in it?’
Welcoming the chance to share words, Russ folded the press. ‘Just more of the usual. You know, I’ve been thinking of investing in some of these War Bonds; it’d bring twice as much interest as we’re getting from the bank.’ Rachel said she had been entertaining the same idea and both decided that they should not delay further. ‘Rowena, put the kettle on, love, we’ll have cocoa.’
Rowena inserted her needle into the hankerchief she was embroidering and left her seat at the table. ‘Could we have a piece of toast for supper, Mother?’
‘You can have two slices between you,’ answered Rachel.
The smallest girl tapped at her father’s arm. ‘Give me a tickle with your ’tache, Father.’ This was one of the tricks he had used to gain her friendship; she had grown quite fond of him now. Russ bent his head and nuzzled her with his moustache. She screamed her delight and ran off.
‘Regina, watch the milk!’ She had almost knocked the jug over. With only two pints a day between eight of them, this would have been a smacking offence. At her mother’s sharp cry, she shrank into a squat.
Rachel tut-tutted, then continued to chat to her husband. Rowena knelt in front of the miserly fire and put a slice of bread on the toasting fork, watching and listening to her parents. Since the war had ended, the atmosphere in the house had grown steadily better. If Father hadn’t quite been forgiven, then it was Rowena’s opinion that he very soon would be. He still sometimes cried on a night, but in the daytime he was very much like the father they used to have – or near enough. Rowena watched the smiles on her parents’ faces. The sight brought a smile to her own mouth, though she was too deep in concentration to know it. She continued to sit and watch, bursting with hope and happiness.
‘Keep the home fires bur-ning!’
Her father’s hearty rendition made her jump and she looked at the toasting fork to see flames licking the bread. In her daydream she had not noticed how close it was to the fire. With a cry, she blew on it, then looked woefully at her mother. ‘Sorry…’ It was uneatable.
Rachel had to laugh. ‘I wouldn’t’ve thought it possible to burn anything on that scratty fire, my feet are blue with cold. Oh, throw it away and get another slice! I’ll close my eyes.’
Rowena threw the burnt toast on the fire. It fell out onto the hearth.
‘Even the fire doesn’t want it,’ said Russ, and when Becky giggled he dug a finger in her ribs. ‘Eh, who gave you permission to laugh?’ At his tickling, she laughed the louder. ‘Oh, she’s going to lay an egg! Eh, keep her laughing everybody and we’ll have eggs on toast for supper.’ He kept tickling her. ‘Come on, get them laid! Oh, there’s another one – we can sell a few on the black market at this rate, four bob for half a dozen!’
After the laughter died down and the toast and cocoa were consumed it was the children’s bedtime, all except Rowena who was allowed to stay up later. ‘Right, flu inspection!’ said Rachel and ordered them to line up in front of her. Terrified of the deadly influenza that was sweeping the country, she made close examination of her brood night and morning, making them drink mineral water to flush out the impurities. Each forehead was tested for signs of fever, eyes for brightness. In the medicine cabinet an assortment of bottles stood in preparation, on which Rachel had ‘Spent a fortune’!
‘I hope you realize,’ said Russ to his girls as they came to kiss him goodnight, ‘that if none of you get this flu there’ll be a fine imposed for money-wasting.’
Rachel smiled with the rest, but when she and Russ were alone she confessed, ‘I do worry about them… it only takes one in a class to spread it round the entire school.’
‘Rowena won’t be there much longer, will she?’
Rachel shook her head as though disbelieving that she was the mother of a young woman – in fact, all of them were growing up; Becky and Lyn were at grammar school and Regina would be starting school soon… the house would be empty. Russ asked if she knew of her daughter’s intentions, career-wise. ‘She says she wants t
o be a typewriter. I’d prefer she stayed on at school but she doesn’t want to – says she hates it. I doubt she’d pass her matriculations anyway, so there’s little point.’
‘Well, there’s one thing,’ sighed Russ. ‘She won’t have the trouble finding a job that some of these poor lads do… I had young Jimmy in today asking for his post back.’
‘Oh, he got through the war unscathed, then?’
‘Not entirely, he’s had a hand blown off… but at least I won’t be worrying about him putting his fingers in the till.’ Russ smiled.
‘Can you afford to employ him?’
‘It’s not a question of affording. I have a duty to employ him.’
Rachel said, ‘I know what you mean. I saw Biddy on Armistice Day. She looked awful. I felt I just had to offer her a healthier job… she laughed at me.’ Rachel laughed too and stood up to draw the curtains. Sick of the regulations imposed on them in the war, many people, herself included, had taken to drawing the curtains later than normal or leaving them open altogether.
Russ watched her. She was wearing a new shorter-length skirt that exhibited her nice legs. From the thigh the skirt was pleated, but above this it fitted snugly round her hips. He couldn’t take his eyes off them.
Rachel felt his stare – not for the first time; he had been watching her like this for weeks. Just because I smiled at you, she told him mentally, don’t think there’ll be any return to ‘that’, because there won’t. It unnerved her, knowing what he was thinking about. What if… well, he had been without sex for four years, hadn’t he? What if he forced her? After all, he was a different person; she hardly knew him. If he could kill people then it would be easy for him to… She imagined her own response to his rape – biting, scratching, struggling. Experiencing difficulty in breathing, she tried to force the vision aside as she held out her hand for his cup. Russ noticed how it trembled. Was it because she was afraid, or because she wanted him? He wished he knew, wished she would come right out and tell him where he stood. He dared not make the move himself, scared it would set him back four years. Draining the last cold drop, he parted with his cup and watched her take it to wash.
What the devil are you talking about! Rachel asked herself, saying he’s been without sex for four years – how do you know that? He never went without it before, did he? Not like you, lying alone in your bed, aching to be held and touched…
The time for bed came around. The coals were doused with a cupful of water. Each wished the other goodnight. Russ went to his bed, Rachel to hers. She shut her door… but she couldn’t shut her mind.
* * *
In spite of the continuing shortages, it promised to be a brighter Christmas. If only Charlie wasn’t coming to interrupt the normal pattern of things, Russ felt sure that the magic season would bring him and Rachel even closer. Fortunately, Charlie’s college did not permit the boys to come home until Boxing Day, so at least the main days of Christmas would be spent enjoyably.
Oh, it was a joy! To sing carols around the piano, to sit round the table like they used to do, with a cheerful fire, cards on the mantelpiece, homemade crackers at each setting. Look at their faces! Everyone was happy, content, there were no grumbles about the Army, no carping because someone hadn’t been pulling their weight, all were smiling and chatting and treating him like the father and husband he used to be… well, almost.
Ella came in to wish them Happy Christmas. She was asked if she would like a sherry. ‘No, I can’t stop, love. We’re off to the Mansion House to meet the Mayor and his wife. We’re having five hundred children for tea. Imagine that, Rache! Anyway, I’ll have to dash. Just thought you might like to hear how things’re going – bye!’ Once outside, Ella gave a devilish grin.
‘Like to hear.’ Rachel formed a wry smile as the door closed on Ella. ‘Show off, she means. Five hundred children for tea – why can’t she have bacon sandwiches like we have to make do with?’
For a second no one got it, then someone giggled – Mother had made a joke!
‘Well!’ She laughed with them. ‘It was the way she said it.’ She adopted a haughty voice, ‘We’re having five hundred children for tea! And after all she said about the Mansion House… ah dear, poor Ella, still having to poach other people’s children. But, I suppose she’s lucky in a way, never knowing the heartache of losing a son.’
Russ feared the mention of Bertie was going to ruin things, but then his wife smiled sadly. ‘We’ll have to do something about Robert’s room. It seems silly crowding the girls into that tiny space when that’s lying empty.
‘Ooh, can I have it, Mother?’ Lyn was the first to ask.
‘Yes, you and Robina can…’
‘Aw, can’t I have it to myself?’ begged Lyn. ‘Bertie did.’
‘I told you that was because boys and girls don’t sleep in the same room,’ Russ reminded his daughter.
Rachel was looking at the disheartened face, hearing again the voice cry, ‘I only wanted to be important!’ The children had suffered badly in this war. It was time they were made to know that each of them was important, if only for a night. ‘I’ve got an idea. Before we start to use Robert’s room properly, each of you can spend one night in it all to yourselves. You can have your turn tonight, Rosalyn.’ There were cries of glee. Lyn came to squeeze her mother’s neck. Rachel returned the hug, then went to stir the fire. ‘It’s a bit silly, me sleeping in that big room on my own as well.’
Russ became alert. His heart beat faster.
‘I should let you girls have it and move my things into your room so there’ll be more space when Charlie comes home.’
Oh, the crushing disappointment! Russ turned away so that she would not see the destruction on his face.
‘On second thoughts, I’ll leave it until summer, there’s enough to do at Christmas without making more.’
‘If me father went back in your bed,’ suggested Becky, ‘there’d only need to be two of us in each room.’
Russ cringed. Oh God, what’s going to be her reaction to that? But Rachel pretended not to have heard.
Later that Christmas Eve, the family were gathered in the kitchen, employed in their usual festive activities. Rachel was bent over the oven checking on her baking. Russ, as had become his wont, was watching her every move, running his eyes over her hips. The girls were grouped round the table making yet more decorations, when the door opened and Jack Daw limped in.
He took off his cap and gave it a flick to remove the droplets. ‘Merry Christmas to one an’ all.’
Both Russ and Rachel showed surprise, but returned the wish. Rachel pulled a chair from under the table and planted it nearer the fire.
‘Come and sit down, Jack. Did you enjoy your meal at the Mansion House?’
Jack muttered that it had been ‘Not bad.’
As he stumped over, Beany finished making her cut-out dolls and said, ‘Watch this, Mr Daw!’ before opening the folded newspaper. Her visage turned to one of rage when, instead of joined-up dolls, emerged ten separate little cutouts. ‘Aw!’
Jack said bluntly, ‘You’ve folded it the wrong way,’ and sat down.
In a fury, the child ripped the cut-outs to shreds, bringing instant rebuke, for waste paper was worth money these days.
‘Oh, give us another piece!’ Her father gestured. ‘I’ll fold it for you. Now then, what can we do for our new Sheriff?’
‘Our new Sheriff is doing well enough for himself, thank you very much.’ Jack gave his twisted smile and rubbed at his leg where it joined the artificial one. ‘Happen you were right about the wounded hero bit, eh? No, I just came round to see if you fancied joining me in a pint of Wincarnis. Ella’s gone off to do some charity work or other. I thought, I’m not stopping in on me own on Christmas Eve. How about it?’
Russ was about to refuse when his wife surprised him by saying, ‘Go on, you may as well go for half an hour or so. I’ll be busy until bedtime with these preparations. Take one of the spare front door keys in case I’ve gone
to bed.’
He raised a speculative eyebrow, said, ‘Oh… oh, all right I think I will,’ and getting his coat followed Jack into the yard.
Later, when the children were abed and her work was over, Rachel sat by the fire nursing a cup of tea and going over all her thoughts. A look at the clock told her she would probably be on her own for another hour. She decided to use the interval to take a bath. Locking the doors, she left a note for Russ should he arrive earlier than anticipated: ‘I’m in the bath.’ Then, closeting herself in the scullery, she lifted the worktop over the bath and turned the taps on. Whilst waiting for it to fill she collected a towel and took the soap from the sink. After a thoughtful sniff of the latter’s unexciting perfume she gave way to impulse and raced up to her room. From a drawer she took a tablet of scented soap that had been a Christmas gift from a previous year but which had until now only been used to perfume her clothes. Lifting it to her nose, she inhaled deeply – then remembered the taps were still running and bounded downstairs to arrest them.
There was more water in the bath than was proper in these austere times, but Rachel thrust aside the guilt and, stripping, stepped into the bath. After washing herself she lay back, the water lapping at her chin and the scent of ottar of roses filling her lungs.
* * *
Russ halted outside the front door to exchange last-minute words with Jack. The latter used the wall to take the weight from his stump. Retaining the habit of the trenches, he shielded the glow of his cigarette in his palm whilst taking a long drag. ‘Well, Russ… I hope things come all right for you.’ During the walk home the conversation had worked its way round to the state of Russell’s marriage.
Russ’ lips hauled on his own cigarette. ‘Aye, thanks, Jack, so do I. Sorry to drag you home early but I want to keep on the right side of her over Christmas, if only for the kids’ sake.’
Jack said for him not to worry. ‘I wasn’t reckoning to stay till closing time meself. I get fed up after an hour or so.’ He winced as he got to his feet. ‘I’ll have to get Ella to sandpaper me leg. See you.’
My Father, My Son Page 60
