by Annie Clarke
Thinking of Sandra led her to Ralph, whom the girls had visited yesterday. They thought they had felt a tremor in his hands, but was it their imagination? They didn’t know and had come home elated at Sandra’s news, but upset about Ralph, though it was progress of a sort. The thing was, they had hoped for more. Perhaps Smythe had too, because he and Reginald had been chatting in the corridor, slipping out while the Massingham girls had twenty minutes.
They turned through the gates of the drive at last and pedalled the final stretch, Annie remembering Ralph as having more colour when the co-op had visited on Tuesday, and again on Thursday. She had not felt a tremor in his hands then, though she had told the lad to get a grip, come home and stop worrying everyone. But the thought of worry brought the problem of the uniform to the fore again. What did it mean? If she found she couldn’t trust Reginald, then could she trust his son? Who would she go to if that was the case? Perhaps Professor Smythe, for he seemed to know everything.
She swallowed, then set her mouth in a grim line as they cycled along in front of the house, the bliddy gravel flicking as always. Whatever she had to do, she would do it, and that’s what Joe would have said too. They turned into the garage yard, and there it was, the Rolls-Royce. For a minute she wished it wasn’t there, but then told herself to stop being so bliddy wet.
She bumped along the cobbles with Audrey beside her and the others following, leaving the bikes near the Rolls. As they did so, Alfie slipped down the ladder from his rooms.
‘Howay, ladies. The bairns are waiting for their rug lesson, and the lads’ll be ready for their footie later. That’s if the boys are eager after their shift.’
Maud Bedley muttered, ‘They’d better be, they’ve had their orders. And the lasses said they might be up an’ all, though they’re singing at the Rising Sun this evening. You’ll be helping with the footie, will you, Alfie?’
‘I’ll do anything for a cuppa, ladies.’
‘Howay with you,’ grunted Madge, ‘you’ll be playing footie, cuppa or not, or I’ll need to know the reason why, lad.’
They set off towards the kitchen just as the door opened and the bairns tumbled out, rushing towards them, the boys grabbing the frames, and the girls the bags of old felted sweaters, coats and materials that they knew would be their task to cut into different lengths. Eva waited, the bag she had taken from Maud Bedley clutched to her.
‘We’ve nowt to tell yer about Mr Ralph. Nowt, Mr Massingham still says, ’cept he’s improving a bit, but you know that, for you’ve visited. We did too, but he just lay there. We held his hand, we said our tables. Sister Newsome said that he quite likely heard, but was still too tired. That’s good, you co-op ladies, in’t it, for him to hear? And this morning Sophia had a funny turn she did. Went all white and sweaty. The sweat made drops on her forehead. She’s sitting down with the rest of the bairns.’
The women looked from Eva to one another. Mrs Adams sniffed. ‘Where was that Joy? Why wasn’t she helping?’
Marty called from the top of the basement steps, ‘Oh, she’s gone – said she were fed up with wiping noses, having her sleep disturbed and making bliddy scones.’
‘Language,’ called Annie.
‘Aye, that’s what we said, but she told us to bugger off,’ said Abraham, coming to take Annie’s bag of materials.
Melanie was skipping ahead of them now as they made for the steps. ‘Her auntie, Mrs Phillips, skelped her legs, she did, with the spoon this morning. She didn’t half yelp, and took off with her bags, shaking her fist.’
Annie stopped and turned to look at the others, who were all smiling with relief. Maud Bedley turned to Eva. ‘Did poor Sophia have to get up in the night—’
‘Has Mr Massingham found anyone to fill her place?’ interrupted Madge.
Eva shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Missus Madge, and no, we didn’t wake Sophia, or that Joy, for she’d skelp our backsides if we did. We divint like to tell our Sophia what she were doing. We’d told the lads they must keep their mouths shut, even if they had a bad dream, so when Marty woke he said nowt, you know, the one like me and Melanie have after we had to lie in the rubble with our dead families.’
No one could speak, not at that moment, but when Eva raced ahead of them, Maud Bedley whispered, ‘Something must be done. Fretting bairns, and one worn-out woman.’
Madge agreed. ‘Aye, and we know exactly who – Viola.’ They crossed the yard, trying to decide how they could manage to have someone here if Mr Massingham was away, because even if Viola agreed, she’d have to give her notice at the Labour Exchange.
‘Well, till it’s sorted,’ said Madge, ‘Alfie can do it. Time he learned how to grow up.’
Audrey sniffed. ‘That’d be a first. They’re always three and a half.’
They hurried to the kitchen, though Eva’s words still resonated, and Annie thought she’d rather sit for a moment and have a bliddy good cry. She saw Sophia sitting on a stool at the end of the scrubbed pine table, overseeing two bairns rubbing lard into flour. Sophia looked up.
‘Guess what’s for lunch?’
‘Onion and carrot pie,’ shouted Eva, ‘with a few bits of rabbit. Sophia will tell Mr Massingham it’s juicy, but we know it isn’t, not really.’
Sophia raised her eyebrows and murmured, ‘Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings …’
As the others sorted frames and material to be cut at the other end of the kitchen table, Annie slid out of the room.
‘Howay, Annie,’ called Maud, ‘not doing a runner, are you?’
Annie stopped momentarily. ‘Of course not, just need to visit the toilet and then run up to the attic to pick up me hanky. I reckon it might have dropped in the trunk, which is no way for it to end its days.’
Annie started to close the door, then stopped again. ‘I’ll look for old blankets too. I reckon the bairns could cut them up after they’ve done these.’ She pointed to the material they’d brought from Massingham. ‘They might manage a rug for Briddlestone’s between them, eh? Then there’s pocket money to share. Will that be all right with you, Sophia?’
Melanie looked up from an exercise book. ‘I’ll help carry it, Mrs Hall.’
Sophia shook her head. ‘I think you need to work on those times tables Mr Ralph gave you before he hurt himself, so you have them ready when he comes home. And yes, Annie – a perfect idea.’
Annie set off up the stairs, marched across the entrance hall, her heels clicking on the tiles, and knocked on the study door, for this was where Reginald normally was. She waited.
‘Enter.’
He didn’t look up as she went in, but continued writing. She closed the door behind her.
‘Just a moment, my darling.’
Annie coughed. ‘’Tisn’t your darling, Mr Massingham. It’s the ogre from Leadenhall Terrace.’
He looked up in surprise. ‘Why, Annie, this is a pleasant surprise. Ogre indeed? You look cold, have you cycled up? Alfie will always fetch you, so telephone from the box, eh? I’m just thankful that you are all so helpful to dearest Sophia, especially now Joy has decided to wave us goodbye. Now, how can I help you? Oh, do sit down.’
Annie waited by the door. ‘We have no time, Reginald.’
He half rose. ‘Is Sophia unwell? She’s been—’
‘Come with me. I have something to show you in the attic.’ She turned on her heel, not giving him a chance to reply. She led the way towards the stairs, her heart thumping, fearful her courage would desert her, so she quickened her pace, listening for his footsteps. Was he following? Then she heard his heels on the tiles and the creak of the stairs as he gained on her until they were walking alongside.
‘You’re being most mysterious, Annie.’
She merely said, ‘I don’t want to speak of it, Reginald. Not here.’
On they walked, side by side, and gradually her heart slowed, but still her shoulders were braced as though to receive a blow. Up another flight, until they reached the empty servants’ quarters. S
he waved towards the rooms as they passed. ‘These would serve well as bedrooms for the children, and there are more than enough rooms to have just two in each.’
He was panting now.
‘You should get more exercise, Reginald.’
‘Indeed,’ he muttered, ‘and have you thought of dropping the co-op in favour of the parade ground? I’ve often thought you and Fran would make superb sergeant majors.’
She laughed suddenly because he was chuckling, and her nervousness lessened as they headed for the attic door, which stood locked at the top of the stairs. This was Reginald Massingham, kindly Reginald. But behind the door lay that uniform.
Once at the door, she took the key from her pocket. He merely raised his eyebrows.
‘Let me.’
She handed it over. ‘I wanted to keep anyone else from entering the attic until we had decided what to do.’
Reginald looked confused as he unlocked the door.
He placed the key on the hook and gestured for her to enter first. Annie stepped into the dimness, and again the cobwebs clung. She muttered, as she headed for the end of the attic and the trunks, ‘At least they’re not the thick beggars you get in the unused seams of Auld Hilda.’
Stooping below a beam, he was next to her now. ‘I hated them, especially if they caught my mouth. And the blacklocks … ghastly beggars.’
She turned, surprised that he should know, and then remembered that his father had sent him into the pit when he was in his last year of school. The pitmen had been against it, but the lad had shown his mettle, and it had influenced his management of his pits from then on.
‘Aye, my Joe hated them an’ all, but it’d be a strange pitman who didn’t.’
She had stopped by the trunk that contained the clothes. She turned to check that the door was closed, worried because they should have locked it from the inside, but it was too late now. She laid her hand on Massingham’s arm. ‘You need to see this, Reginald. Then you need to dispose of it so it never sees the light of day again, for your lad has moved on, I’m sure he has. If you don’t, I will, for I cannot let it survive a moment longer.’
She held him back, looking up at him. ‘You have to remember that most of the young ’uns went from one meeting to another, curious, or just for something different to do. They stopped all that nonsense when war were declared. It weren’t right, most reckoned, to dabble in owt once Hitler and Stalin showed themselves up for what they were.’
At her words she saw shocked understanding dawn. He murmured, ‘Oh dear God.’
Ah, so he didn’t approve? She remembered then Bob going on at the wedding tea about pretending until something became real. Or did he say until it looked real? Was this what Reginald was doing, pretending?
She released his arm, stooped, drew out the rug-making scissors she had tucked away in her pocket and cut through the knotted string. She stepped back. ‘Aye, well, best you see for yourself, and then we need a plan.’
Reginald knelt beside the trunk, unhooked the metal clasp and in the dim light from the skylights lifted the lid. There sat the hacking jacket, undisturbed. He stroked it. ‘This was Ralph’s when he was at school. It seems so small.’
She touched his shoulder. ‘Aye, and I’m right sorry to mither you with all this when we don’t know what the outcome is for the lad’s health, but we divint want him bothered by it, or if worst comes to worst, we divint want it found and his memory besmirched.’ She watched Massingham’s hands grip the jacket, scrunching up the tweed till his knuckles showed white. She patted his shoulder. ‘Aye, I know your heart is tearing apart with the thought of him …’
There, she was pretending too, for while she spoke these words part of her was examining this man she had come to admire.
He swung round and looked up at her, and the torment she saw matched how she had felt when Fran was hurt in the accident, and Stan, too, in the pit a few years back. Then there was Joe, and sweet Betty who’d barely drawn breath. That look could not be false. But he had not seen the uniform yet.
‘Oh, Annie, if only you knew …’ He trailed off, swallowed, his eyes on her. ‘If only I could tell you, but I swear …’
She tightened her grip on his shoulder.
His hand covered hers. ‘You are a remarkable woman, Annie Hall. I do hope we are, or can, if, at all possible, be friends?’ It was a real question, his grey eyes intent on hers, his grip tightening. She had accepted friendship from her marrers and the Massingham people without question, but this was different. This was the squire, the pit owner, who, she only now realised, had steadily become a human being to her. One with all the vulnerabilities of any other person, a man who was the husband of her friend Sophia and the father of Ralph. And here was this uniform that could change everything.
She pointed to the trunk, unable to answer him. ‘Look.’
Mr Massingham drew in a breath and lifted the hacking jacket, holding it to his face. It smelled of mothballs, but Annie could see he was thinking of the young Ralph. He laid it to one side, and there it was again, in all its black vileness. The uniform. Again she watched him closely.
In a whisper Reginald said, ‘He got in with that damnable fool Tim Swinton. There we were, Mr Swinton and I, two fathers unable to acknowledge to one another that they had lost control as their boys flirted with the unmentionable. Unmentionable to me at least, and I’m sure to Mr Swinton. I suppose it was a time when our lads were wondering what Communism was all about, and Fascism. Perhaps they thought one or the other was an easy solution to our economic woes?’
Annie shook her head, certain and determined. ‘We can’t be mithering about why and who, but about what it means now.’
Still on his knees, Massingham whispered, ‘He has confessed his past. Please trust me that this has changed, for I could not tolerate anything “other”. He cannot bear the person he was. He is working for restitution, and much of that is due to you and the co-op, your reluctance to give up when you nursed him, your care, your goodness. I can tell you nothing more, but I say again, please trust us.’
They stayed almost locked together in a bubble. Finally, Annie nodded. ‘I reckon the best thing will be to find something to put it in, and you must take it out secretly, perhaps to the bottom of the garden where the gardener has his compost and leaf burner, or so I believe. The bairns were talking of it because he’d said he’d tan their arses if they dived in the leaves once more.’
Mr Massingham lifted the uniform from the trunk, letting Annie replace the hacking jacket. He stood up, the uniform over his arm. Annie let the lid drop, then hurried from one trunk to another, looking for material. Finally, she found some curtains, threadbare and faded. She pulled out one, and a blue blanket for the bairns’ proggy rug, and spread the curtain on the floor.
‘Wrap it up in this.’ Her tone was brisk.
‘Yes,’ he obeyed, as though he couldn’t wait to get rid of it.
‘’Tis time I was back in the kitchen, so it’s up to you to get that –’ Annie pointed to the uniform ‘– out of the house. Perhaps you have petrol in the garage?’
They smiled briefly at one another. There was misery in his eyes, understanding in hers.
They hurried to the door. He locked it behind them and they set off down the steps, along the corridors and down more stairs until they were at the top of those leading to the entrance hall. ‘Just a minute,’ she whispered as she heard Eva calling at the top of the kitchen stairs.
‘No, Sophia – she’s not down yet.’
‘Go out through the front door,’ Annie whispered. ‘You’ve a lighter?’
Reginald nodded. ‘I’ll have to avoid Alfie somehow.’
‘Give me ten minutes,’ Annie muttered, ‘and I’ll call him in for a cuppa. Then out you go. The bairns are all inside, or were.’
She began to hurry down the final flight into the hall and Reginald hissed after her, ‘How can I thank you?’
‘Friends,’ she hissed, stopping halfway down, ‘don’t ne
ed thanks. Just burn the bliddy thing.’ And she hurried down the stairs to the kitchen, brandishing the blanket.
‘Got a right nice blanket and me hanky.’ No one was to know it had been in her pocket all the time.
Massingham waited ten minutes, then slipped down the stairs and out of the front door, almost tiptoeing across the gravel. He peered into the yard and saw Alfie was heading down the steps to the kitchen. Reginald hurried into the garage, grabbed the can of petrol and almost ran through the walled garden and along to the rear of the gardens. He made for the piles of sodden leaves beside Old Ted’s shed.
God bless the woman, for there was the incinerator, scorched and blackened, but perfect. Old Ted was only here two days a week now, because his rheumatics played havoc with his joints.
Massingham lifted the incinerator lid and peered in. A thick layer of ash, quite dry, lay at the bottom. He dropped in the uniform poured over some of the precious petrol, lit one of his business cards and, readying himself, let it float down onto the material. Slamming on the lid, he waited. Almost immediately smoke rose from the funnel.
‘Burn, damn you,’ he muttered. He would tell Ralph when he next went to the hospital that the uniform was gone. He would not mention Annie Hall because he didn’t want her involved in what was to come should Ralph survive. As the heat grew, and the smoke, he stood back and whispered to himself, as he often seemed to find himself doing these days. ‘How has it come to this? What will Annie think if you end up before a court, once the war is ended?’
As he stared at the leaves piled high, some of them took flight in the wind. He envied their escape for he so often longed to be elsewhere, to leave it all behind – the secrecy of his work for Smythe, his factories, the war, the worry about his son, his grief for his actions.
He stepped forward, his hands up, feeling the warmth as the heat rose from the flue creating a shimmering image of the trees that grew at the end of the side lawn and wondering how he’d had the gall to ask the woman his son had widowed to be his friend. How could he? But how could he not, for they were friends and he would do all he could to help the Halls, and the Bedleys, and the whole lot of these people of his, even though the world was going to hell in a handcart and nothing was normal.