Women on the Home Front

by Annie Groves

  ‘I’m not prejudiced! I just don’t think he’s good enough for you.’

  ‘Why can’t you just leave him alone!’ Grace swivelled about on the edge of the bed. ‘He’s done nothing to you!’

  ‘What’s he done to you, eh? That’s what I want to know, my girl.’

  ‘Oh, here we go again …’ Grace muttered wearily.

  ‘Yes, miss, here we go again, and with your attitude, and if you’re not careful, I can see you ending up just like your cousin Celia …’

  ‘Please … not the cousin Celia story,’ Grace sighed. ‘Don’t tell it to me again, Mum. I can recite it off by heart.’

  ‘Good! ’Cos if that doesn’t put the fear of God into you, I don’t know what will.’

  ‘Well, it’s certainly put the fear of God into you, Mum!’

  ‘I don’t deny it!’ Shirley thundered. ‘It’s enough to scare the wits out of any decent mother! Do you think I want a daughter of mine ending up in a sanatorium?’

  Grace raised her eyes heavenwards. One of her cousins – on the Coleman side, naturally, her mother ensured she made that clear to anybody she recounted the tale to – had ended up in an unmarried mother’s home after her parents threw her out, and the baby’s father did a runner.

  A policeman had got Celia pregnant, then resigned from the force, and joined the navy in the latter half of the war, to escape being tied down. Rumour had it he’d come back as hale and hearty as when he’d left, and had moved up to Cumbria without contacting Celia. But by then, with no family willing to help her, the baby had been forcibly taken from Celia for adoption, and the poor girl had attempted suicide twice.

  At regular intervals Shirley would remind her daughter of Celia’s disgrace, stressing the stupid girl had only herself to blame for giving it away to a rotter before she’d got the marriage lines tucked away in a drawer.

  ‘Where are you off to, then?’

  ‘Just out …’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘For God’s sake, give over! We’re not going to a hotel, and even if we were, it’s none of your business.’ Grace glared at her mother with a mixture of pity and annoyance. ‘Just because you and Dad never had a kind word to say to each other doesn’t mean couples who get along want to be at it like rabbits …’

  ‘What do you mean never had a kind word to say to each other!’ Shirley interrupted in a bellow. ‘That’s a wicked thing to say! We might not have been lovey dovey, but we had respect for each other. And your father would never have dreamed of taking liberties with me before he’d paid for his fun with a wedding ring.’

  Grace sighed. Her mother obviously had on her rose-tinted spectacles. Sadly, she could bring to mind numerous occasions of bawled insults flying between her parents when mutual respect had been nowhere to be seen or heard. But it hadn’t just been a case of Wilf being browbeaten by Shirley’s withering looks and sarcasm. Grace had felt sorry for her mother, too, married, as she was, to a man whose passions in life seemed to be a pint of bitter, a game of darts, and the racing pages in the News of the World.

  Obviously, they’d felt close enough, on at least two occasions, to produce her and her brother, Paul. But, Grace couldn’t recall any instances of her parents being openly affectionate. The only time she’d seen them in each other’s arms was when they’d danced a waltz at her brother’s wedding in the back room of the Red Lion pub in Guildford.

  ‘So let’s have a little less backchat from you, my girl …’ Her mother’s nagging was penetrating Grace’s reflection. A moment later a loud knock on the front door brought Shirley’s lecture to a close, and Grace fully to her senses. But her mother was already heading for the stairs, and was halfway down them before Grace had even collected her handbag.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Christopher,’ Shirley said as though his arrival was a surprise. ‘Come in; Grace is still upstairs. You’ve been going out a while now, haven’t you, and Grace has introduced you to some of the family.’ She immediately launched into the speech she’d rehearsed in her mind. ‘Her nan tells me you’ve been round there for tea. Well, I think it’s time for me to say that, as Grace’s dad has passed away, you’re welcome to speak to me about anything … intentions … anything like that …’

  ‘Mum!’ The single word was heard as a suffocated, silencing groan issuing from the landing.

  ‘Evenin’, Mrs Coleman,’ Chris responded with studied courtesy. ‘Thanks for that, I’ll bear it all in mind.’ Slowly he lifted his eyes, brimming with sultry amusement, to Grace, hovering at the head of the stairs. She’d swung about on the top tread as though she might disappear, then turned slowly back to give him a frown that was, at one and the same time, ashamed and apologetic.

  He shook his head slightly, biting his lip to suppress a smile, hoping he’d indicated he wasn’t at all bothered by Shirley’s pushy behaviour.

  With a deep, calming breath Grace descended the stairs, yanked her coat off the peg, and tonelessly said, ‘Bye, Mum.’ She was halfway down the front garden path before she allowed Chris to help her into the garment. Despite it being dark, and a cold and foggy November evening, she’d simply wanted to get out of the house, and away from her mother, as soon as she could.

  They had driven for a few minutes in unbroken quiet before Grace burst out, ‘I’m sorry … she’s so embarrassing … I’ve not said anything to her to make her think …’

  ‘I know,’ Chris said, slanting an amused look at her profile. ‘Since that idiot you were engaged to slunk off, I suppose she thinks all men are the same. She’s just looking out for you, Grace,’ he added reasonably.

  ‘She’s looking out for herself, more like!’ Grace returned. ‘It’s not just about protecting me, it’s about her not wanting to be shown up or gossiped about, like Celia’s lot.’

  ‘Who’s Celia?’

  ‘My cousin.’

  ‘Got herself in trouble, did she?’

  Grace studied her hands while giving Celia some proper thought. ‘It is a very sad tale, actually,’ she admitted. ‘It’s just I’m sick of hearing about it.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She’s more my brother Paul’s age than mine, so I never really knew her well,’ Grace started. ‘When she was nineteen or twenty she got pregnant by a policeman who wouldn’t stand by her. So, against her will, her baby was taken away for adoption … it sent her mad.’ She glanced at him, wondering if it was the sort of thing he’d shrug off, or perhaps he’d applaud the copper’s deviousness, being as he was, in his own words, a man who liked to push his luck on a Saturday night.

  ‘What happened to the copper?’

  She shrugged. ‘Nothing, as far as I know.’

  ‘What … he didn’t even get a good kicking?’

  ‘He joined up to avoid getting married, and when he came back after the war, he went off to Cumbria. Probably he’s Chief Constable by now,’ she finished sourly.

  ‘Why didn’t Celia’s old man go after him with a shotgun? Cumbria’s not that far …’ One of his hands sliced down on the steering wheel. ‘Straight up the A1 and you could be there by nightfall.’

  A slight grimace lifted Grace’s brow. ‘I suppose it was too late; the baby had been adopted by then. Is that what your lot would do … go after him, even if he was a policeman, and give him a good kicking?’

  ‘Too right, and being as he was a copper, it’d be a pleasure. It’s never too late for revenge, not when it’s something as bad as that.’

  ‘You’d do that, for your daughter?’ Grace asked.

  ‘’Course …’ He glanced at her. ‘Your mum thinks you’ll let me get you up the duff and then I’ll disappear.’ He choked a rueful laugh. ‘Seems your mum knows me better than she knows you.’ He frowned. ‘That was a joke, of course …’

  ‘Don’t worry about her, she’s just an old busybody.’ Grace turned her head to stare out of the side window into the misty darkness. ‘It’s getting very foggy out there …’

  ‘I had a run-in with one of those
today.’

  That comment drew an enquiring look from Grace.

  ‘A busybody,’ he explained. ‘I went over to Bexleyheath again and got chatting to me mum’s neighbour. Same old girl as before.’ He paused, grinning. ‘She didn’t threaten to set the police on me this time.’

  ‘You’ve been to see your mum again?’ Grace echoed before her delicate features transformed into a wondrous smile.

  ‘I saw her, but not to speak to. I kept meself hidden in case she caught a glimpse of me and had another turn. I went over there to do her a favour.’ He sounded sweetly diffident. ‘I’d been giving a bit of thought to what you said about people like her not getting anything done for them, even though they help out others. So I fixed her a new gate while she was at work.’

  ‘What a good idea!’ Grace beamed her approval.

  ‘Yeah … I thought so too,’ he said, feigning conceit. ‘Just hope she thinks so …’ He slanted Grace an exaggerated grimace. ‘I stuck a note through her letterbox, just telling her she don’t owe me nuthin’; didn’t want her to think I might be sending in me invoice.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll know, from a kind gesture like that, you just want to be friends with her.’ Grace endorsed her praise by hugging his arm.

  ‘I found out she’s had a really hard time of it. This is where the busybody neighbour comes in,’ he clarified. ‘I didn’t ask questions, she just started telling me about why the gate got took off in the first place.’ He whipped a quick look at Grace as he steered around a corner. ‘When me mum’s husband got back from the war he’d lost a leg and needed a wheelchair.’

  ‘And he couldn’t get in and out of the gate in the wheelchair?’ Grace guessed.

  Chris nodded.

  ‘What a terrible shame for him to be crippled … and for her too, of course …’ Grace murmured.

  She’d heard similar tragic stories of war casualties. It wasn’t unusual to see men out and about, trying to cope with life following the loss of limbs, or their sight, in the wake of the Second World War. Grace was often amazed at how jaunty some of them seemed to be as they hobbled along in their neat clothes and polished shoes. She suddenly realised that poor Mr Riley couldn’t be amongst those plucky souls. ‘So, if your mum wanted the gate put back … that means no wheelchair and no Mr Riley. He must’ve died.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s a widow; he passed on a while ago, not long after he got invalided home.’

  ‘Have you got any half-brothers and -sisters?’ Grace asked optimistically.

  Chris shook his head. ‘According to the battleaxe, me mum married Mr Riley just as the war started, and he was wounded a couple of years after. She said Pamela ended up being more his nurse than his wife … in which case it ain’t surprising they never had kids.’

  ‘Are you disappointed not to have more family?’ Grace asked gently.

  ‘Yeah; I am … a bit …’ He fell silent.

  ‘Talking of kids … I did another good turn ’n’ all today. Little girl from up the road come wandering into the house we’re working on. Lucky she didn’t come a cropper; she was walking about barefoot on a building site. So I took her home to her mum. They’re the people I was telling you about: the Murphys who moved in earlier in the year. Matilda was doing a bit of babysitting for the woman so she could do a cleaning job. But her husband put a stop to that. He won’t let her go out and earn a few bob even though he’s scratching around for work now he’s lost his shifts with the pikeys.’

  ‘That’s a daft attitude to have,’ Grace said emphatically.

  ‘Kieran Murphy’s asked me for a job a couple of times now but we’re not taking on.’

  ‘What did the woman say when you took her little girl back?’ Grace asked. ‘Anything could have happened to her. She might have got bricks fall on her while you were working. How old is she?’

  ‘About three or four, I reckon. Sweet little thing, she is, polite too; her name’s Kathleen.’ He chuckled. ‘She was after me sandwiches. Poor little mite seemed starving hungry, so I gave her one.’

  ‘They must be very hard up …’

  ‘I reckon they are, but it seems the old man’s one of these too proud fer his own good and doesn’t want it known he can’t provide for his family. He took the sandwich off the kid and give it me back … what was left of it.’ Chris frowned. ‘Kieran Murphy was out, but he turned up just as I was handing Kathleen over to her mum. The woman looked guilty as hell and knew she’d been wrong in not keeping an eye on the girl. But she’s got another kid to look after, and that one’s a lot younger and coughing its guts up all the time.’ He sighed. ‘Kieran had a face like thunder so I just left ’em to it. Wish I hadn’t now; wish I’d offered a bit more help. But not a lot you can do for a man won’t even let his kid have a cheese sandwich he ain’t paid for.’

  ‘At least you tried,’ Grace said, feeling proud of him. ‘Some people would just walk on by.’

  ‘Felt sorry for his wife; she knew she’d done wrong letting the tot out of her sight. I could hear him tearing a strip off her before I got out of the house. Shame I can’t offer the bloke a job, then perhaps they could get themselves out of there, but the guvnor says there’s nuthin’ doing.’

  ‘Couldn’t he make an exception?’

  ‘Nah, not Rob. He’s a businessman and he won’t jeopardise his profit margin by gettin’ all sentimental. Can’t blame him really; if he gives Murphy a job one of the others will have to go and that ain’t fair. D’you want to see where me dad and Pearl are opening up their caff?’ Chris asked abruptly, changing the subject. ‘It’s in Hornsey Road; got quite a good spot, they have.’

  On seeing Grace’s enthusiastic nod, he added, ‘We’ll probably catch them in; me old man said they’ll be working late. He’s keen to get it all up ’n’ running by next week. He’s thinking of doing fancy teas as an opening offer, to draw in the customers.’

  ‘Sort of early Christmas cakes?’ Grace observed. ‘He’s obviously got a good business brain, your dad.’ She sounded impressed.

  ‘Suppose he has, in his own way.’ Chris had always thought his uncle Robert was the smarter of the two of them, and doubtless he was where winning building contracts was concerned. But perhaps now his dad was working at something he enjoyed, instead of felt obliged to do, he might prove to everybody that he could run a successful business as well as his brother, if he put his mind to it.

  Stevie might not know a lot about doing paperwork but he knew what people liked to eat. Everybody loved a nice bit of cake, and with Christmas approaching, they were thinking of their stomachs. Chris reflected sombrely on the Murphys, wondering if they’d manage to get themselves somewhere warm and cosy by then, and enjoy a good Christmas Day.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘I saw Vic this evening,’ Stevie announced. ‘He was just off to the shop to get something for his tea. Unusual for him to do a bit of shopping.’

  ‘Deirdre’s playing a blinder there, I’ll give her that,’ Chris said with a chuckle. ‘She’ll probably have him burping the baby and changing it after every feed.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Pearl stated flatly. ‘She’ll need to put her feet up for a while after it’s born. My husband used to change our Calvin’s nappy.’

  Pearl was the same age as Stevie, forty-five. She’d separated from her husband almost twenty years ago, after producing one son. But neither she nor her husband had ever bothered to put divorce proceedings in place. Pearl knew that if Stevie were to propose she’d get the ball rolling the following day. She’d loved him for years and very much wanted to be his wife.

  Her son had lived with her until he was eighteen, although he’d seen his father whenever he wanted to as the marriage had floundered without rancour on either side. But Calvin had his own life now, and was a regular in the army, so Pearl only saw him a couple of times a year.

  ‘You told me he never done nappies willingly,’ Stevie protested, frowning at Pearl.

  Talk of husbands helping out with thei
r newborn children always made Stevie feel uneasy. He was uncomfortably aware he could have done more to support Pamela when their son had been born, and then things might have turned out differently. When she’d moaned about Christopher’s constant crying he’d told her to pull herself together and get on with it. When she’d complained her nerves were playing up, and she couldn’t think straight, he’d told her to get off her backside and be a wife and mother, because she was getting fat and lazy.

  He’d never seen his father lift a finger to help his mother, whether it was caring for kids or household chores. In fact, Stevie had never seen his father work willingly at anything at all. Jimmy Wild would always skive and sponge if he could.

  At the age of twenty-one Stevie had selfishly assumed babies were women’s work, and Pamela should naturally be able to cope with hers. But if he’d ever guessed how she’d go about coping with their fretful son, he’d have nursed Christopher to sleep every night rather than risk him being harmed.

  For twenty-four years Christopher had been the most precious thing in his life and, although Stevie knew it was time for them to go their separate ways, nobody could take his son’s place in the centre of his heart.

  Soon they’d not only be working but living apart, and it was the right thing for both of them, Stevie accepted that. Yet still he felt a pang of possessiveness at the thought of somebody else being more important to Christopher than he was.

  ‘My husband might not have liked doing nappies.’ Pearl suddenly took up the cudgels again. ‘But he did it all the same. And that’s what a woman wants: a bit of support now ’n’ again without too much of a song ’n’ dance going with it.’

  ‘Sounds like you wished you’d stayed with him,’ Stevie muttered petulantly.

  ‘Nah … couldn’t have done that. Couldn’t stand that smell no longer.’

  Chris and Grace stared at her before exchanging a glance of suppressed amusement.