by Carol Rivers
‘Well, at last the world’s come to its senses,’ said Pops, mirroring Kay’s thoughts as she tipped the cloth cap back from her wrinkled brown forehead. ‘Perhaps now we’ll have that long-awaited peace.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Kay, smiling. ‘Though it’s hard to believe.’
‘The news will take a while to sink in,’ Pops said. ‘But as soon as Winnie gives the people the go-ahead, there’ll be no stopping the celebrations.’
Kay nodded. ‘Mum and Dad took Alfie up to the church hall this morning. Her whist club is planning a party.’
‘Didn’t you want to go too, love?’ Aunty Pops’s eyes twinkled. ‘There’s no Yanks about now. You’d be safe.’
Kay laughed as Aunty Pops teased her. ‘I wonder where Gene is now and if he survived the war?’
‘Let’s hope so. He was a nice young man.’
‘I thought I’d write to Babs,’ Kay said as she turned off the wireless. ‘In her last letter she said she’d heard from Eddie. He’s waiting to be demobbed and wanted to know if he could see the kids.’
‘Do you reckon they’ll patch up their differences?’
‘They’re both changed people now, Aunty Pops. The war saw to that. But they love their kids. And perhaps there’s a chance for them as a family.’
Aunty Pops got stiffly up from her seat. ‘Any more news from Vi?’
‘No, I’ve heard nothing since January. She wrote then that she’d been transferred from the convalescence home to somewhere in Woking. Her writing was none too clear but she said she was trying to get used to walking with a stick.’
‘It’s not twelve months yet, love, since her stroke,’ Aunty Pops reminded Kay. ‘It took me a good couple of years to get used to this.’ She waved her stick in the air. ‘I didn’t lose me speech like Vi did, but me legs went for a burton. So I know what she’s going through. When you write next, tell her from me that it just takes time and patience. Though, of course, I must admit I can’t do the things I did when my Tommy was alive.’
‘Do you still miss him, Aunty Pops?’
‘As much as I did on the day he died, ducks. Just as you do your Alan. But my Tommy went of natural causes, whilst the war took Alan, and that seems cruel. ’specially with the nipper so young.’
Kay felt the sting of carefully suppressed tears. Since leaving the East End she had forced them away daily and it was just as difficult now as it had been nine months ago to accept that Alan must be dead.
‘You’re not alone, love,’ Aunty Pops said tenderly. ‘There’s many bereaved young women like you – not that that’s much consolation. Now, if it’s the future you’re worrying about, you needn’t. You’re welcome to stay here. There’s plenty of room in this big house as you well know.’
‘Thanks, Aunty Pops.’ Kay didn’t like to say that although she had grown used to Monkton, and had even come to like it, her heart was still aching for Slater Street. Even in the ruined state it must be in, the island was in her blood and it would take a long while before that fact changed. The docks, the dirt, the tarry, salty smells, the markets, the smoke-covered houses and busy factories, long rows of whitewashed front steps, the constant noise and the faces of her friends and neighbours. But what was the use of pining for a place she couldn’t have? The cockney community she knew and loved had all but disappeared. It was reported in the newspapers that even the air that East Enders breathed was still tainted with the sulphurous gases of war. How could she think of returning?
Aunty Pops patted her hand. ‘The offer’s there if you want it. Just thought I’d say. Now, I’m going out to dig up a few more dandelions before they take over the paths.’
Kay watched her aunt shuffle her way out of the house and bend, with the help of her stick, to take up her small trowel and poke at the weeds. Her dad was still not the best at gardening, and like Uncle Tommy turned a blind eye to nature’s rampage, as her mum called it. He now disappeared daily with Alfie, taking him to school in the town centre and collecting him again at four. Kay smiled. Between her dad and Aunty Pops, Alfie was well and truly spoiled and had even made new friends. But, like Kay, he still missed his old home. He remembered everything clearly, as she did. He never tired of talking about Gill and Tim and, to her amazement, still spoke of Sean. Kay had kept in touch with Jean Pearson explaining that, although she couldn’t visit Sean, she had written to him, and she knew from Jean’s reply that Sean was finally on the road to recovery.
Kay got up from the table. She had long ago learned to do as Alan advised her: turn off her imagination when it came to matters she could do nothing to resolve. Instead she would write to Babs about the end of the conflict and her hopes that Eddie would soon be demobbed. The letter would take some while to arrive in Essex. Perhaps as it did, Eddie would be making his way home to the family he missed so much.
Kay wandered round the kitchen and into the front room. Sunshine streamed through the clear glass of the windows, now free of tape. The scent of the fields and the cattle grazing in the pastures, the fragrance of the roses that Aunty Pops had planted outside the front door told her it was too beautiful a day to stay inside.
Ten minutes later, she had put on her floppy sun hat and was making her way towards town. A soft breeze lifted her long coppery waves from her shoulders and cooled her hot skin. Now that the conflict was over, what was she to do? Aunty Pops’s offer was generous and very kind. But Kay missed having her own home. She couldn’t have Slater Street but what if, like Babs who had put her name down on a list with the council in Essex, she decided to stay in Berkshire?
Kay thought of the remaining thirty pounds in her Post Office account. The money was dwindling. She had given Aunty Pops a small amount each week to put towards hers and Alfie’s keep. Would it be possible to place what was left with a landlord as rent on some kind of accommodation? Berkshire was a far cry from Slater Street, but it was clear her dreams of returning to the city were to remain just dreams.
She had seen a notice in the window of the cafe in town. A part-time waitress was needed. The shifts, she had noted, would fit in with Alfie’s school and she was sure she could learn the trade quickly.
Perhaps the radio broadcast this morning was the wake-up call she had needed.
‘I’m sorry, love, I really am.’ The elderly shopkeeper sighed. ‘I took on someone a short while ago. And I never even advertised the position. I had two young women like yourself come in this morning, one after the other. It was the news on the wireless that did it. Really looks like the war is over.’
‘I was told the same at the cafe,’ Kay said disappointedly. ‘The lady who owns it sent me here.’
‘And I’d’ve took you on like shot, my dear, if I hadn’t been suited,’ the grocer agreed. ‘You’re young and look strong enough to help me with all the greengrocery, which I’ve had to manage on my own since war broke out. There’s lots of young women like you who’ve done grand at filling in for the men but now that our boys are coming home they’ll want their old jobs back again.’
‘Do you know of anywhere else I might try?’ Kay asked hopefully. She had even made enquiries at the Post Office which had a board in the window with all sorts of notices pinned on it. Mostly there had been items for sale, but one or two were for rooms to let. She’d already tried two of them. The first, a set of rooms over a garage, had no garden and were reached by a rather dangerous set of spiral stairs. The next had been a small terraced cottage close to the shops. The woman had refused her as the rent, she said, would be beyond the means of an unemployed mother.
‘Can’t say as I do,’ answered the shopkeeper. ‘But you could look in the Post Office window.’
‘I already have.’
‘Well then, try the next village. Or perhaps the farms, though after having had the Land Girls for the duration, the farmers are bound to want cheap labour. Your best bet is to try the bigger towns.’
Kay nodded. ‘Thanks, anyway.’
She stepped out into the bright sunshine, replacing her
hat. All her enthusiasm had faded as it became clear that renting rooms without the security of a job was impossible. What was she going to do?
The sight of the baker’s opposite, with a sign announcing ‘Freshly baked scones and tea’ made Kay pause. She had told Aunty Pops she was going to spend a couple of hours in town and now she didn’t feel like going home. She wanted to sit quietly with her thoughts and, after buying a newspaper, she returned to the baker’s.
Kay sipped at the tea the assistant brought her, but with little enjoyment. It was clear the grocer was right. Ex-servicemen were, so the paper reported, returning to take up their old jobs. The women who had filled them since the outbreak of war were also refusing to give up their positions; for the duration of the conflict they had proved to be as skilled and as hard working as the men who had left them. Many of them wanted to keep their independence, like Kay. Finding work, whether full- or part-time was going to be difficult, especially in a small town like Monkton.
Kay placed her elbows on the table and gazed down at the open newspaper. While walking down the lane she had been planning on providing for herself and Alfie in their new home. But it was just a pipe dream. Alfie was seven in November. He was growing up fast. Kay’s thoughts went to her son’s future. What lay ahead for him? Without Alan as part of their lives, what would they do?
‘Is this seat taken?’
Kay lifted her head slowly, staring up at the outline of a tall man. With the sun behind him, flowing in through the bakery windows, he reminded her of someone.
The voice, the broad shoulders – she narrowed her eyes to see who it was.
Suddenly she was being swept to her feet, the breath leaving her body as Alan hugged her in his arms. She mumbled choked words. The husband she thought was dead placed his lips on hers and kissed her, making her realize this was no dream. He was holding her tightly in his arms, as though it had only been yesterday that she’d left them.
Chapter Forty-Nine
He was dressed in civilian clothes, a pair of casual trousers and a dark jacket. Kay noticed that her husband still had his lovely, thick, dark hair, but it was cut so short that it accentuated his prominent cheekbones which protruded from a gaunt and hollowed face. The bones of his shoulders were sharp under his jacket, causing it to hang loosely on a frame that had visibly lost weight. Alan was the same man, she knew, but he was frighteningly unfamiliar.
‘I’ve been watching you,’ he told her, taking her hand. ‘Through the window. Just drinking you in from a distance.’ His voice was rough and hard, as though he was controlling his emotions with difficulty. ‘I didn’t want to shock or upset you.’ His dark but weary eyes held hers. ‘My God, Kay, you’re so beautiful. More beautiful even than the picture I had of you in my mind.’
Kay opened her mouth to speak but she couldn’t.
‘I wanted to write and warn you,’ he continued. ‘But my CO suggested I wait until after I was debriefed and had adjusted to being back. Kay, I’ve missed you and Alfie so much.’
‘Alan? Alan, is it really you?’ She held his face in her hands.
‘It is, darling.’
‘But I thought – I was told—’
‘I know. I know all about it.’
Kay swallowed. ‘Do you know why me and Alfie are here – that our house was bombed?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I know everything.’
‘Who told you?’
‘My CO, Major Campbell.’
‘But Alan, he sent me a telegram saying you were missing in action. After that, I heard nothing. I – I thought you were dead.’
‘And so I should have been.’ He drew her close and for a few silent moments they clung to each other. ‘Can we talk privately? Is there somewhere we could be alone?’ he asked huskily.
Kay nodded, still unable to believe that Alan was here in the flesh. But he was and his eyes told her how much he wanted her and she knew there was only one place she wanted to be with her husband. Linking her hand through his, they walked slowly out into the sunshine.
They lay together on a bed of bracken under the newly budding leaves of the oak tree. Kay felt at peace, at rest. Their need had been too urgent to deny. Arm in arm they had climbed the hill and at the top, Alan had spread his jacket over the warm wooded floor. In the seclusion of the copse, they had once again become lovers. The sun warmed them, shining down through the branches, dappling their entwined bodies with soft light.
This was the secret place, she told him, where she and Alfie liked to come. It was a secluded spot hidden in tangled thickets and filled with birdsong. They would bring a picnic here and enjoy a game of hide and seek. Kay looked up gratefully to the canopy of nature above them that had provided such a welcome homecoming for Alan.
‘This is a beautiful spot, Kay,’ he whispered as she traced her fingers over his bare chest and he in turn touched the straps of her petticoat with trembling fingers. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’ He kissed her tenderly, wrapping her against him and holding her tightly.
Kay knew it was enough to have him beside her. But as she looked at his thin body, she ached for him. She could now see the sharp jut of his ribs and the hollows under his collarbone. She knew he had endured hunger and pain. But how much?
‘Alan, where have you been and how did you survive?’
He stared ahead, his eyes far away. ‘I was captured on the French border after completing my mission. I spent over a year under Nazi lock and key, but with help from the Resistance eventually managed to escape and was given sanctuary in a safe house until Paris was liberated.’
‘Oh, Alan, it must have been awful.’
‘Not as bad as it might have been,’ he said quietly. ‘After all, I survived.’ After a few seconds he continued. ‘When I was first called up, I was sent for training with Military Intelligence associated with my rescue work here at home.’
‘Are you saying you were a spy?’
Alan looked into her eyes. ‘Kay, I was recruited long before the war started.’
‘But Alan, how could you get involved in something like that?’
He looked away again as though collecting his thoughts and when he eventually spoke, his voice was a rough whisper. ‘Me and my two brothers were taught to thieve by our father. We became little experts at helping Dad in his life of crime. Although we knew it was wrong, we were afraid to disobey him and the only peace we had as a family was when he was in prison. When Mum died and I ran away to sea, I thought I’d escaped him and the life I so hated. But one day, years after, I returned home to look for my brothers. But they had long gone and I found Dad very sick. I should have left him – but he begged me not to leave.’ Alan’s face hardened. ‘He deserved nothing from me, I knew. Yet I stayed with him until he died.’
‘Alan, that was a kind thing to do.’
‘Perhaps. But that decision cost me my future. The law arrived and fitted me up for one of Dad’s crimes. I was arrested, tried and found guilty.’
Kay gasped. ‘But you were innocent!’
‘Who was to believe me, the son of a professional thief? I was sent to prison, where a man visited me. If I agreed to join in the battle against fascism, I would be pardoned. The truth of it was, a second war with Germany was imminent and Military Intelligence needed its spies. With my experience, skills that could only have been gained through learning about crime and subterfuge from an early age, I was a perfect candidate.’
‘But you’d left that life behind when you went to sea,’ Kay insisted.
‘So I thought. And if I’d never gone back that day, perhaps I would have led an entirely different existence.’
Kay felt the tears smart. ‘But then you would never have met me.’ She leaned towards him and whispered, ‘None of this changes us, Alan.’
He shook his head sadly. ‘You’d better know the whole story, Kay, before you decide on that. You see, I didn’t go to Spain to fight for freedom, but on a mission to steal Franco’s gold. Britain was afraid Franco’s wealth would em
power the Axis. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. Whilst there I witnessed a beautiful and historic town being ripped apart, just as the East End was during the Blitz. A soldier beside me died.’ He paused, slowly meeting her gaze. ‘This soldier’s name was Alan Lewis.’
Chapter Fifty
‘But how could that be?’ Kay was struggling to understand.
‘The dead man was Alan Lewis. But I was Jack Harper.’ Long seconds passed as she stared at her husband. ‘Your name is Jack – Jack Harper and not Alan Lewis?’
‘Alan Lewis, the man who died, told me he was a member of the International Brigade. He claimed to be an idealist, fighting for freedom and justice. He had no family, apparently, and no ties back home. So when the bullet obliterated his face, I saw an opportunity. I would take his identity, become him, and Jack Harper, the thief and puppet of the military, would die. He even looked like me. His death seemed the answer to a new life. But, as I made my way back to Britain, Military Intelligence arrested me.’ His face darkened as he laughed without mirth. ‘All I had done was to fall deeper into their power. They allowed me to keep the identity, which served well for espionage purposes. I was told that if, or rather when, a second war broke out, I would be recalled to service. That was the price of freedom once again.’
‘So your name is Jack, not Alan?’ Kay said, staring at the man she thought she knew and loved.
Alan nodded. ‘But I left Jack behind a long time ago.’
‘Alan – Jack – I don’t know what to call you.’ For the first time, Kay felt afraid. What did this all mean?
He took her in his arms. ‘I’m Alan, I’ve always been Alan with you,’ he insisted. ‘Neither Alan Lewis nor Jack Harper, but the Alan you know. Now you know everything, Kay. Does it change things between us?’
