by Pam Weaver
Ruby wondered if she could find a way to make that work in her favour, and as she finally dozed off a plan was coming together in her head.
‘You know what, Roger, I’m gonna have to sort this out right now. I’ve got no choice. I can’t let those pricks get away with it any longer, not now they’re messing around close to home – to my home. If I roll over and let them carry on taking the mick like this then every upstart in Walthamstow and beyond will be trying to get his foot in the door – my door, on my turf.’
His irritation bubbling away, Johnnie Riordan slammed his fist down hard on the table, making the teacups rattle in their saucers and his brother-in-law jump nervously.
‘But how’s it your turf?’ the other man frowned. ‘You don’t own Walthamstow, and anyway, what do you reckon you can do to stop them?’
‘That’s what I’ve got to decide. Any ideas?’ Johnnie asked out of kindness more than anything. He didn’t really expect a workable answer.
‘I’m new at this lark so I don’t know nothing; I’m not like you. It’s hard for me after what’s happened and I just don’t bloody well understand any of it. I can’t do it.’
The man sitting opposite Johnnie was so bewildered he looked as if he was about to burst into tears. Johnnie tried hard to keep himself in control. He was fuming at having found out that Ray Blakeley had apparently got his hands on some black-market alcohol to sell on. It wasn’t that Johnnie didn’t have enough of his own, it was that Ray even thought he could try to encroach on his territory.
‘Don’t whine, mate. I know it’s hard for you to get your head round it, but when needs must and all that … It’s not your fault you’re a cripple now, and I feel bad for you, I really do, but your family still need providing for. I’ve given you a good way of doing that so you’ve just got to get on with it. You help me and I’ll help you, but you’ve got to be committed.’
‘But committed to what? What you do’s dishonest. I was never clever, and I’m even dafter now, but that don’t make me bent. I’ve never been bent.’
‘It isn’t dishonest, it isn’t bent and you’re not daft, just a war victim.’ Johnnie struggled to keep his anger down. ‘Well, yeah, OK, it is a bit dodgy but, like I said, when needs must; and right now needs must. I’ve got a living to earn and you’ve got a family to take care of.’
Johnnie was sitting in his sister’s kitchen along with his brother-in-law, Roger Dalton. After they’d got home from the local pub Betty had made them a huge pot of tea, put it in front of them with a couple of home-made biscuits, while at the same time threatening them with their lives if they woke the two sleeping children upstairs.
Johnnie adored his elder sister and her children, and he even liked her husband, which was lucky, as he lived with them and contributed more than his fair share to the family budget.
Johnnie had been living with their widowed mother until the year before when, with very little notice, she had told him she was going off to be a live-in housekeeper in central London for a very wealthy elderly gentleman she’d met while working in the menswear department in Selfridges.
It had been a surprise but neither he nor Betty had been upset. Betty was pleased that her mother was enjoying her life again and had persuaded her beloved little brother to leave the temporary accommodation where he and their mother had been living since being bombed out of the old family home, and come to lodge with her instead. Johnnie was also pleased for his mother but, with an eye always on a chance, he had viewed his mother’s change of circumstances more cynically and could see that her affluent employer was a connection that he might well be able to cultivate in time.
All in all it had worked well for the whole family.
‘I reckon a good battering should do it, nothing too serious but enough to stop his fucking nonsense.’ Johnnie leaned back in the chair and blew smoke rings in the air as he thought about it. ‘That Ray likes to think he’s a hard nut, but he’s just another little punk without enough brains to be even a half-decent entrepreneur. As for Bobbie, he could be squashed underfoot in an instant. A few hard kicks up the arse should knock them down to size.’
‘Entrepen what?’ Roger looked quizzically at his brother-in-law.
‘It’s what I am and what I’m going to make you. Supply and demand. I’ve told you before, we find those who haven’t got it but want it and then we supply it.’
‘Supply what?’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Roger, anything anyone wants that we can get our hands on. We’re the middlemen. But you know all this; I’ve explained it over and over.’ Johnnie sighed and banged the palm of his hand against his forehead in frustration.
‘I know, but I’ve never heard it called that before. I thought it was just the black-market stuff.’
Johnnie sighed and leaned forward. ‘Now listen to me, don’t even mutter that expression under your breath, never mind out loud. We’re businessmen – does that make it easier for you to understand? Anyone asks, we’re businessmen. Don’t say anything else. OK?’
Roger Dalton frowned and shrugged. He had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer but, before signing up to fight in the army, he had had a steady job in a local factory and had worked hard to provide for his family. Now, thanks to a random grenade, he was officially an invalid with a gammy arm that hung lifelessly by his side, a shattered knee that didn’t bend, and an eye patch covering an empty eye socket while he waited to be fitted with a false one. But worse than the physical damage was the effect the explosion had had on him psychologically. Roger had returned from convalescence a nervous wreck who rarely slept and who jumped at the slightest sound. He was getting better – mostly thanks to his wife – but Johnnie had also more than contributed to his painful recovery.
Johnnie was determined not to see his sister go without, so he was doing his best to help by getting Roger into a bit of wheeling and dealing alongside him, but it was hard work and he could only use him on the periphery of his blossoming business. There was no way Roger could cope with anything complex and Johnnie wasn’t convinced he could be trusted not to talk inadvertently about his business to the wrong people.
‘I saw you down the High Street talking to his sister earlier. Betty told me who she was. Is she like her brothers?’
‘You never said hello – where were we?’ Johnnie asked sharply.
‘You were standing by the alley looking at her all daft, like. So is she like her brothers?’
‘I wasn’t looking at her like that, you idiot!’ Johnnie said a little too quickly. ‘But no, she’s not a typical Blakeley. An old head on young shoulders, that one; all classy and bright as a button, thanks to spending five years away from the no-hopers in her family. I think she’ll give the bloody Blakeley boys a run for their money eventually. She especially hates Ray so she’s a good one to have on our side. We can make use of her if we play our cards right; get some info from her when we need it.’
‘Do you want to go out with her then?’ Roger asked curiously. ‘She’s a bit of a looker, but don’t tell Bet I said that.’
‘Get off, she’s far too young for me – not even sixteen yet,’ Johnnie replied quickly, but with a lack of conviction. ‘But there’s something about her, the way she carries herself, her conversation … I dunno, she just seems way older than other girls her age. If I didn’t know I’d have put her at twenty.’
‘So you do want to go out with her?’ Roger pushed with a wide grin.
‘I said, she’s too young for that, but I do want to be friends with her so I can keep tabs on the two toerags.’
‘So are we going to have to batter ’em then? The Blakeleys?’
‘No we’re not, I’m going to get someone else to do it. We don’t want to get in any bother ourselves, do we?’
Again Roger looked vague and Johnnie could feel his patience evaporating.
‘Look, I’ve got to have a good think about it first. Maybe we could find Ray’s stash and nick it. He has to store it somewhere, probably in th
at garage where they both work. He couldn’t tell anyone we’d done it, could he? It’d drive him crazy and get him into some real bother.’ Johnnie smiled at the thought, then stood up. ‘Still, enough of that now, we’d better get ourselves off to bed before our Betty has a go. Me and her are off up west tomorrow to see Ma in her classy joint. Might even get to meet the rich toff she’s working for.’
‘It’s not fair. I dunno why I can’t go as well.’ Roger’s voice was childlike, his tone sulky. ‘Why does Betty want to go with you and not me? I’m her husband.’
It irritated Johnnie when Roger behaved like this, but he tried to make allowances for everything he’d been through.
‘Because you and Aunty Clara are keeping an eye on the kids for a change, and my motorbike don’t take three.’
‘But I want to go as well.’
‘Too bad,’ Johnnie interrupted. ‘I want doesn’t always get. Your missus needs a break sometimes, and I’m taking her out so stop bloody moaning on like a sissy.’
As soon as the words were out he felt guilty. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a job you can do if you want an extra couple of bob; just an hour or so while the kids are at school.’
Roger’s face lit up. ‘What’s that then?’
‘I’ll tell you about it in the morning,’ Johnnie replied, giving himself a few hours to think of something that would help his brother-in-law’s self-esteem.
Five
1940
A large group of children all aged around ten stood in two raggedy lines. They faced forward obediently and, even though the boys feigned bravado, each and every one of the children was noticeably scared and nervous. Hands and feet fidgeted and eyes either darted around, taking in the unfamiliar scene, or stared down at their shoes.
Ruby Blakeley was in the middle of one line, her small suitcase and gas mask at her feet, tightly holding hands with the equally terrified small girl beside her. Her heart was thumping and tears were threatening to overflow once again from her already red eyes; all she wanted to do was run out of the gates and keep on running until she got back home. What had seemed a bit of an adventure when they had set off for the train station earlier that same morning had quickly turned into a nightmare once the reality of the situation sank in. They were leaving their families, homes and everything familiar to go and live far away with complete strangers.
Once the selection process got underway her thoughts became confused. On the one hand she desperately wanted to be picked, but on the other she didn’t want to have to go home with any of the strangers who were milling around the playground, chatting with each other.
As they had neared the village, Mrs Sparrow, one of the accompanying teachers, had stood up at the front of the coach and briefly explained to the thirty children on board exactly what would happen once they had reached their destination.
‘To make sure you all understand I’ll repeat everything you were told earlier on the train, so listen very carefully. Those of you with red dots on your labels are getting off at the first village and the other half with blue dots will be taken to the next village with Miss Flynn. The other coaches, with the children who are accompanied by their mothers, have gone elsewhere. We’ll be ticking your names off the list as you get off so don’t any of you be trying to stay on board if you’re in the first group.’
The usually stern teacher smiled down at the sea of small faces to ease the tension and paused while every child looked down at his or her name label.
‘Once you’re matched with your host family they’ll take you to their home where you’re going to live with them until London’s safe again. These are kindly people who are doing their war duty so we expect you to repay them by doing as you’re told at all times, being helpful and behaving well. You’ll be attending school while you’re here, so you’ll make some new friends; and don’t forget, Miss Flynn and I will be staying with our groups for the time being. We know you’re going to miss your families but you all have to be brave. It’s for your own good, remember, to take you all away from the bombing.’
A few minutes after she had finished speaking the coach pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. It was the moment of reality for the children, and some of the girls had started to cry openly while most of the boys chewed their lips, fiddled with their hankies and stared out of the windows, pretending not to care.
‘All right, children. Red dots collect all your belongings and follow me. Quickly! Tell me your name and show me your label as you get off.’
The children scrambled off the coach and formed a crocodile before hesitantly following their teacher into the church hall next to the local school. After a brief respite, which included hot chocolate and biscuits, they were instructed to line up back in the school playground and the process began.
Only three children were picked before Ruby. Then she saw a woman point to her.
‘Ruby Blakeley, step forward, please,’ her teacher said, and she took the smallest step forward with her eyes firmly on the ground. ‘Ruby! Manners!’
Swallowing hard, she looked up just as a tall, imposing woman stepped up to her and smiled.
‘Hello, Ruby. I’m Mrs Wheaton. You’re coming home to stay with me.’
Despite the lady’s friendliness, Ruby was terrified, and she couldn’t stop herself from shaking as she bent down to pick up her sparse belongings.
‘You look frightened, Ruby, but don’t be. Think of this as a nice holiday,’ the woman said gently before taking Ruby’s free hand and walking her up the main village street. She talked all the way, explaining about the village and pointing out the shops and landmarks, but the ten-year-old was so wrapped up in her own fear she found it hard to even concentrate, let alone respond.
‘Here we are, Ruby, just in here. This is where we live. We don’t have any children ourselves but your schoolfriends will be staying nearby. I was part of the committee that organised the billets so you just have to ask and I can tell you where they all are. And you’ll make new friends at school.’
Ruby looked around as they approached the house. From the exterior it reminded her of ‘the big house’ up in Woodford, where her mother was employed as a cleaner. During the school holidays she had sometimes gone with her mother and waited impatiently on the wall outside, wondering about the inside, but not once had she been allowed over the threshold; and she had never met her mother’s employer.
The Wheaton property was equally impressive, with thick wisteria growing up the walls, flowerbeds on each side and a walled garden to the rear. The house itself was L-shaped and stood alone on a corner at the top of the main street behind a high but neatly trimmed hedge. A large black car was parked on the drive near a detached garage, a fat ginger and white cat curled up on the car roof. He opened his eyes, looked at the newcomer and closed them again.
Talking all the while, Mrs Wheaton led Ruby along a curvy path to a hidden entrance on the side.
‘We always use this entrance because the other one is the one the patients use to go into the surgery. I did tell you my husband is a doctor, didn’t I? But there are also doors in the house that lead from one to the other.’ She smiled. ‘Oh, and the cat is called Fred. He’s very gentle and lazy and loves children. Mr Yardley lives in the flat over the garage. He drives the car for the doctor and does all the odd jobs. You’ll meet him later, and we usually have a nurse staying with us. There’s a new one coming next week. She’ll live in the room at the back of the surgery. That’s why we only had room to take in one evacuee. It’s a very busy house and surgery.’
With a hand placed in the middle of her back, the woman gently pushed a hesitant Ruby through an already open front door into a wide, square lobby with a tiled floor and half-panelled walls. Several dark wood doors led off it and there was an impressive staircase to the side that turned twice on its way to the first floor. Ruby’s first impression was that it was enormous, so enormous she couldn’t imagine sleeping even one night inside without being scared witless.
‘I’ll show you your bedroom in a minute, but first I want you to meet my husband. He’ll be through in just a moment.’
Even as Mrs Wheaton spoke Ruby heard a clunking sound and turned around to see a man in a wheelchair heading across the tiled floor towards them. Ruby was petrified when she saw the man wheeling himself towards her. His head was down and she couldn’t see his expression.
‘George darling, this is Ruby Blakeley, the evacuee who’s going to be staying with us. She’s ten years old and from London. She’s also very nervous, understandably. Ruby, this is my husband, Dr Wheaton.’
‘Don’t be nervous, Ruby,’ the man said as he stopped his chair in front of her. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. I hope you’ll be happy during your time here; we look forward to having you for as long as you need to be here.’
The man held his hand out to her and smiled. His face was friendly and his tone soothing but, despite all the niceness, a huge wave of homesickness swept over her and before she could reach out and take the proffered hand she started to cry. Her shoulders moved up and down in time with the huge gasping sobs that she tried desperately to control but couldn’t.
Mrs Wheaton immediately bent down and pulled the little girl to her; she hugged her tight and, whispering gently, she continued to hold her until the sobs subsided.
‘There, I think the worst is over for you now so chin up. I’ll show you your room and then we’ll have dinner and get to know each other.’
Later that night Ruby lay curled up in her bed and thought about everything that had happened during that long first day. She was exhausted, but although Mrs Wheaton had made her a cup of warm cocoa she couldn’t sleep. Her room was large and her bed was soft and welcoming, but she hated it and wished she was back home in the familiar boxroom, which she had to herself because she was the only girl. She also wished she had been able to bring some of her favourite personal things with her: the three china animal ornaments that had perched on her windowsill for as long as she could remember, the wooden box that contained all manner of secrets and mementoes, the mini-bolster that she liked to cuddle at night; but most of all she wished her mother was there with her.
