Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child

by Harry Bowling

  ‘’Cos there’s a bloody great unexploded bomb in the back yard, that’s why,’ he shouted.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Tony O’Reilly stepped from the number 63 bus and hoisted his rifle over his shoulder as he set off through the backstreets to his house in Ferris Street. He was wearing a full pack and the thick canvas straps felt uncomfortable as he walked along, his studded boots sounding loudly on the pavement. A few people were standing around at their front doors and they gave him little more than a passing glance. The sight of a soldier in full service pack was quite usual now and only a few small children showed any interest.

  Tony finally reached his corner house and knocked on the front door. His heart missed a beat when the door opened and he saw Lola standing there, a serious look on her flushed face.

  ‘I’m glad yer ’ere, Tony. It’s yer mum. She’s took a turn fer the worse this mornin’,’ she said gravely.

  He stood his rifle against the wall in the passageway and struggled quickly out of his packs.

  ‘She’s bin askin’ for yer,’ Lola told him, following on as he hurried into the back bedroom.

  The room was stuffy and there was a strong smell of disinfectant.

  ‘’Ello, Ma. ’Ow yer feelin’?’ Tony asked in a soft voice as he bent over the bed.

  Mary’s eyes opened briefly and a ghost of a smile touched her white lips. ‘I bin waitin’ for yer, boy,’ she uttered in little more than a dry whisper.

  Tony glanced up anxiously at Lola who was standing by the door. She nodded her head slowly. ‘Stay there wiv yer mum, Tony, I’ll make yer a nice cuppa,’ she said kindly.

  Mary’s eyes flickered as she lifted a bony hand up off the covers and her lips moved. Tony bent over her, his ear to her mouth.

  ‘Are yer all right, boy?’ she whispered.

  Tony stroked her cold hand. ‘I’m fine, Ma,’ he answered.

  Mary held on to his hand. ‘I’ve bin worryin’ about yer,’ she said, her eyes struggling to focus on him. ‘Yer’ll be goin’ orf ter fight soon an’ I want yer ter know I’ve said a prayer fer yer.’

  The young soldier’s eyes filled with tears as he bent over his dying mother. ‘I’m gonna be all right, Ma,’ he said. ‘You’ll still be ’ere when I get back.’

  Mary forced a smile. ‘I’ve seen me time out, Tony,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve come ter terms wiv it. I jus’ want yer ter know I ’ad ter do what I did fer your sake. I wanted ter see yer on yer feet before I went.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Jus’ be careful wiv the money, son,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t ferget yer own. Jus’ remember that money can bring yer ’appiness or misery. It’s up ter you.’

  Tony held his mother’s hand in his. ‘There’s no need fer yer ter worry yerself, Ma,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’ll never ferget me own, or where I come from.’

  Mary smiled and then her face became rigid as her eyes closed. Tony gently placed her hand back on top of the covers and leaned back in his chair. He could see clearly that she was fading away, and when Lola came back into the bedroom carrying a cup of tea, he glanced up anxiously at her.

  Lola put the cup down on the chair beside the bed and bent over Mary. ‘She’s asleep, luv,’ she whispered. ‘Ole Dr Kelly’s bin round an’ ’e said ter send fer ’im if we need to. Anyway, I’ll leave yer alone fer a while. I’ll come back later.’

  Tony sat looking down at the ashen face of his dying mother. He could see the weak pulse beating in her neck and the occasional slight movement of her lips, as though she was trying to form words. She had told him before about her fears over his inheriting the Galloway money, and now in her last few hours she was talking about it again. Rachel had told him in her last letter of her own mother’s concern, and he rested his chin on his hand as he stared down at the sleeping figure of his mother. He had vowed that he would not let the money change him in any way, if he could possibly help it. But would it change him in Rachel’s eyes? he wondered. What was it that old Nora Flynne had said when he spoke to her after the reading of the will? That he should go and see her if he was troubled by the money. Why was she so adamant about it? What was it that made everyone so concerned?

  Tony sipped his tea slowly and watched his ailing mother as she slept. It had been very hard for her over the years, he realised. From the very beginning she had vowed to stay independent of any help from the Galloway family, and it must have been difficult for her to make the initial approach to the old man. Knowing that her health was failing, she would have felt driven to provide for his future, but he knew that she must have agonised over whether it was the right thing to do, judging by her warnings to him about the way he handled his inheritance.

  His mother seemed to be sleeping peacefully and Tony took the opportunity to go to the scullery and boil the kettle. He washed and shaved, and then changed into his civilian clothes, putting on a clean shirt and grey trousers which he found in his wardrobe. All of his clothes had been washed and ironed and he knew that it was something his mother had not been well enough to do. The whole house looked clean and tidy and Tony realised that it must have been Lola who had made it so. He must thank her for her help, and for the way she always seemed to be there when his mother was poorly.

  The evening felt chilly and he lit the fire, banking it up with a large piece of coal. He had just boiled the kettle again and was making tea when Lola returned. She laid a paper parcel down on the table and unwrapped it.

  ‘I just bin up ter Kellerman’s. They stay open late on Saturdays,’ she told him. ‘I got some brawn. Yer mum said yer like brawn.’

  Tony smiled at her and nodded. ‘I ’adn’t thought about eatin’,’ he replied. ‘That looks good.’

  Lola took a loaf of bread from the cupboard and proceeded to cut thick slices, coating them liberally with margarine. She spread the thin slivers of brawn between the bread and handed Tony his sandwich on a plate. ‘I’ve not ’ad a chance to eat meself,’ she said, taking a bite from hers.

  Tony poured the tea and handed Lola a cup. ‘I’m sorry but I should ’ave fanked yer fer takin’ care o’ me mum,’ he said, ‘an’ fer doin’ all me washin’ an’ ironin’.’

  Lola waved his thanks away. ‘It’s no trouble,’ she replied. ‘She insisted on payin’ me but I wouldn’t let ’er give me too much. I’ve got quite fond o’ yer mum. She was good ter me when I needed ’elp.’

  Tony’s raised eyebrows prompted her to go on. ‘Yer know what I do fer a livin’,’ she reminded him. ‘About a month ago I got a wrong ’un. D’yer know what I mean by a wrong ’un?’

  Tony nodded. ‘I fink so.’

  ‘No, yer don’t,’ Lola replied smiling at him. ‘One night I took a client back ’ome an’ ’e turned nasty. ’E wanted more than I was prepared to give. Anyway, I tried ter get rid of ’im an’ ’e beat me up. I couldn’t work fer a week an’ I was feelin’ very sorry fer meself. It was yer mum who come ter me aid. She paid me rent an’ ’elped me out wiv food. I couldn’t ’ave managed wivout ’er ’elp. Not once ’as she criticised me or tried ter preach ter me. I appreciated that. Anyway, I managed ter pay the money back I borrered from ’er, an’ I might tell yer I ’ad a terrible job makin’ ’er take it, so now I’m repayin’ a bit of ’er kindness, though like I say, she insists on payin’ me fer the washin’ an’ ironin’.’

  ‘Don’t yer ’ave somebody ter watch out fer yer when yer workin’?’ Tony asked her.

  Lola smiled. ‘A ponce, yer mean?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I would ’ave thought it was necessary to ’ave somebody watchin’ out fer yer,’ he said.

  The street woman snorted dismissively. ‘I did ’ave somebody lookin’ out fer me at one time,’ she replied. ‘It was my ole man.’E was as useless as they come, an’ as thick as two short planks.’E used ter wait on my earnin’s ter go out an’ get pissed, an’ then’e’d be wantin’ to ’ave ’is way wiv me when ’e got ’ome. I stood it fer as long as I could an’ then I chucked ’im out. It was the best da
y’s work I ever did. I can look after meself.’

  Tony ate his sandwiches without saying anything, and when Lola lapsed into silence he studied her face as she stared down at the glowing coals. He felt compassion for the warm-hearted prostitute and after a few minutes he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand round the back of his neck.

  ‘When the war’s over I’ll be goin’ inter business I expect,’ he announced suddenly. ‘Maybe I could give yer a job.’

  ‘Workin’ fer you?’ Lola said, her eyes sparkling. ‘An’ what would I do, look after yer clients’ needs?’

  Tony grinned. ‘I s’pose yer could make me tea an’ keep me place clean, or yer could do me books,’ he added quickly, noting the look in her eye.

  Lola kicked off her shoes and wiggled her stockinged feet at the flames. ‘Let’s wait till the war’s over,’ she told him.

  The sound of coughing coming from the back bedroom startled them and they hurried to tend to Mary. Tony eased his mother upright while Lola dabbed at her red-flecked lips.

  ‘Yer gotta understand it’s quite probable yer mum won’t last the night out,’ she said quietly, trying to be kind. ‘All we can do is keep an eye on ’er.’

  ‘We?’ Tony queried. ‘There’s a full moon ternight. I should fink we’re gonna be in fer an air raid. Yer should get yerself off ter the shelter soon,’ he told her.

  Lola shook her head. ‘I couldn’t leave ’er,’ she replied. ‘If there is a raid, I’ll take me chances ’ere. What’s ter be will be.’

  Back in the parlour Tony drained his cup and reached for the teapot, feeling grateful that Lola had decided to stay. ‘I s’pose yer’ll be wantin’ anuvver cuppa now,’ he said smiling.

  When they’d finished their tea Lola went out to the sink and rinsed out the two teacups and Tony sat watching her through the doorway. She was in her early forties, he guessed. She was dark in complexion and her large brown eyes were warm and friendly, in a round face that inclined to be chubby, with narrow lips and a dimpled chin. Her hips were large and she was full-busted, though her legs were slim and she had slender ankles. She must have been a beautiful woman in her youth, he thought. But the life she led had taken its toll. There were red patches on her face and her hair looked coarse and wispy. There were bulges under her eyes and her fingernails looked like they were constantly being bitten.

  Lola dried the cups and set them down on the table. ‘I’ll go an’ take anuvver peep at yer mum,’ she said.

  Tony leaned back in his chair and stared at the fire. The prospect of seeing Rachel again filled him with excitement and he thought about the few days they would spend together. It would be the last time for a lengthy period, he knew, though his regiment’s destination had not yet been divulged. The tanks and armoured cars had been getting a treatment of sand-coloured paint and camouflage, and the troops were being issued with tropical clothing. The strong rumour was that they were bound for North Africa, though one wag had said that it was a subterfuge and they were really going down to guard the south coast against an invasion. There was also speculation that the regiment was bound for India.

  Lola came back into the room and sat down beside the fire, facing him. ‘She’s sleepin’ peacefully,’ she said.

  Tony nodded, his eyes getting heavy as he stared into the fire. ‘Are yer sure yer feel all right about stoppin’ ’ere?’ he asked. ‘It could be an ’eavy raid wiv that full moon.’

  Lola nodded her head, frowning at him. ‘I’m all right,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got a big man ter protect me.’ Tony blushed slightly and she smiled. ‘Yer mum told me about yer young lady,’ she said. ‘I understand it’s serious.’

  ‘Yeah, it is, but it’ll be some time before I get the chance ter see ’er after this leave,’ he replied. ‘We’re goin’ overseas very soon.’

  ‘D’yer know where?’ Lola asked.

  Tony shook his head. ‘It might be the Middle East,’ he told her.

  They were quiet for a while, each staring into the burning coals, and it was Lola who broke the silence. ‘D’yer fink yer young lady will wait fer yer?’ she asked suddenly.

  Tony looked up, surprise showing on his open face. ‘Of course she will,’ he replied, sounding a little sharp.

  Lola shrugged her shoulders. ‘Some don’t,’ she said. ‘But then that sort are not werf considerin’ in the first place,’ she added, seeing the concern on his face. ‘No, I’m sure yer young lady’ll stay true. She’s a lucky gel. If you were footloose an’ fancy free I’d be askin’ yer ter put yer shoes under my bed, an’ there’d be no charge.’

  Tony laughed loudly, trying to hide his embarrassment, and just at that moment the air-raid siren sounded.

  They got up and went out into the back bedroom, both concerned about the effect of the wail on the sick woman. As Tony leant over the bed, he could see that his mother had not heard it. Her breath was slow and shallow, and the pulse in her thin neck was steady but faint.

  The two left the room and went back into the warm parlour, Lola wincing noticeably as the anti-aircraft guns opened up. For a while they sat without speaking, then as the first explosion sounded Lola pointed to the bedroom. ‘I fink we’d better sit wiv yer mum, Tony,’ she said.

  The house shook and they heard the sound of breaking glass and the clatter of roof tiles falling on cobblestones. Plaster dust fell on the counterpane and Tony instinctively bent over his mother. She had still not woken up and he glanced at Lola.

  ‘She’s in a coma,’ she said quietly. ‘She won’t ’ear anyfing.’

  The noise became louder and the house shook violently as a bomb fell nearby. Guns constantly roared out deafeningly and the crash of exploding bombs sounded every few seconds, but time seemed to be standing still in the room as the blitz raged angrily around them. Lola crossed herself as she looked up at the ceiling. ‘This is the worst one yet, by the sound of it,’ she said in a voice edged with fear.

  Tony nodded, leaning forward over the sleeping form of his mother. Suddenly Mary jumped in her sleep and began to fidget. She started mumbling and her hands were moving as though trying to come up and cover her ears.

  Lola touched Tony’s arm. ‘I fink yer should go fer the doctor, luv. I don’t fink it’ll be long now,’ she said quietly.

  Tony looked at her anxiously. ‘Will yer be all right ’ere?’ he asked.

  Lola nodded. ‘Go an’ fetch ’im, luv,’ she said.

  Tony slipped on his coat and hurried out of the house. The street was as bright as day and the red glow of destruction in the sky reflected back down onto the grey cobblestones. Gunflashes and black smoke pouring towards the heavens reminded Tony of his time on the beaches at Dunkirk and his face was set firm as he hurried along towards the New Kent Road where the elderly Dr Kelly lived. He saw a large fire burning up ahead and a fire tender drove past as he hunched his shoulders and bent his head against the shrapnel.

  At last he reached the doctor’s house sandwiched between two shuttered shops. His loud knock was answered by a grey-haired lady whom he recognised as the doctor’s wife.

  ‘It’s Mrs O’Reilly. She needs the doctor,’ he said breathlessly.

  The woman nodded. ‘The doctor was expecting you,’ she told him. ‘He’s out on call. I’ll get him to come round as soon as possible.’

  Tony thanked her and hurried back towards Ferris Street. Above in the angry night sky the moon seemed as serene as ever, as if it were smiling down on the scenes of carnage and destruction. When he turned the corner into Ferris Street, Tony suddenly gasped and started running. His house was ablaze. Smoke poured from the windows and he could hear the crackle of flames eating away at the inside. He stood back from the front door for an instant then charged forward, using his shoulder to barge in. As he broke in he fell over Lola who was lying beside the front door groaning. Smoke filled the passageway and he coughed loudly as he dragged her out into the street. He turned to go into the flames for his mother but suddenly the house was engulfed. The heat beat him b
ack and he fell down on the pavement scorched and blackened.

  Lola was stirring painfully, and as he crawled to her she rolled onto her side and her eyes flickered.

  ‘Yer mum died just as yer left,’ she managed to gasp out.

  Tony looked down at her. She was badly burned; all the hair had been seared from her head and her face was blistered and swollen. She tugged on his arm and he bent over her, cradling her head in his arms. He could see there was nothing that could be done for her and he raised his eyes helplessly towards the smoke-filled sky as she tried desperately to speak.

  She coughed suddenly and cried out in pain. ‘Tell Gloria,’ she muttered. ‘Tell Gloria she was right . . . ’E did . . .’

  Her voice trailed off and Tony felt her go limp in his arms.

  He was still cradling Lola’s head when Dr Kelly arrived in his ancient Vauxhall. He bent down over the still figure and took off his steel helmet as he made a brief examination, then he glanced at Tony, shaking his head.