Palace of Tears

by Anna King

  ‘I think I’ve put me foot in it.’ Doris looked over at Nellie. ‘But I wasn’t being nasty, Mrs Ford, honest.’

  Nellie glanced up, her face quizzical.

  ‘Being nasty about what, dear?’ she asked, her attention fixed solely on the sleeping babe. Then, without waiting for an answer she said quickly, ‘Oh, before I forget, could you knock on Dot’s door when you go out and ask her if she’d like to come in for a while. The poor woman’s been going round like a lost soul since she received those letters about Bert and Jack. She must be going through agony. It was bad enough losing her husband, but to lose her son as well…’ Nellie’s eyes misted over and Doris, who was watching her, knew that the older woman was thinking of Lenny.

  Afraid that Nellie was about to get maudlin, Doris rose swiftly and was about to follow Emily upstairs when her eye again caught a movement outside the window. With an exclamation of annoyance she strode over to the door, saying, ‘There is someone out there. Some silly sod mucking about, I bet.’ But when she opened the door there was no-one to be seen. And when, with Emily, she left the house some time later, Doris kept looking up and down the street, feeling nervous but not knowing why.

  * * *

  Tommy crouched behind an old battered armchair that had been left out in the street. Come the morning, its owner would haggle with the rag-and-bone man for a few shillings, but for now it would serve as a hiding place until Tommy was sure that the coast was clear.

  He had been looking through the window of number fifteen and had seen his son being picked up by Nellie Ford. He had had to force himself to stay silent, when what he wanted to do was rush into the house and take his son in his arms. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t put Emily or Doris, or Mrs Ford, into a position where they might get into trouble. There were stiff penalties for hiding a deserter, and much as Tommy yearned to enter the warm, cosy house, he couldn’t put the women at risk.

  When the two friends walked by on the opposite side of the road, Tommy had to put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from calling out to them. They stopped at Mrs Cotton’s house first, and Tommy could hear their voices as they asked the elderly woman if she would like to visit Nellie for a while. When they passed under a lamppost he saw their faces clearly, and despite his best efforts a low groan escaped from between his dry, parched Ups. They looked so lovely, so fresh and clean, and Doris… Well, he couldn’t believe the change in her. She was still no match for Emily’s loveliness, but she had an appeal all her own, and strangely it was Doris upon whom Tommy fixed his attention, rather than the mother of his child. He watched until they disappeared from view, and then, every bone in his body aching, he inched his way along the street until he came to his own house. Then he hesitated. What was he going to tell his mother? Dear God! How could he tell her Andy was dead? She’d go mad, completely mad. She had idolised his brother, and none knew that better than he. He lifted his hand to knock, then froze, his arm slowly dropping back down to his side. What if she turned on him! What if she started screaming? But he couldn’t stay out here on the street. Somebody was bound to come along sooner or later, and then what? He couldn’t pretend to be home on leave, not the state he was in. There was no lamppost in front of his house, but the one further down the street reflected enough light to show his unkempt, dishevelled appearance. The sound of a door banging nearby brought his hand up to the brass knocker and, taking a deep breath, he knocked twice.

  ‘All right, all right, I’m coming.’ His mother’s disgruntled voice came to him clearly, bringing with it a sick feeling of apprehension. When the door was opened cautiously, Tommy quickly stepped into the small, gloomy hall saying lightly, ‘Hello, Mum.’

  Ida Carter’s jaw dropped in stunned surprise. Then, a glimmer of hope appearing in her eyes, she looked towards the street and was about to step outside, when Tommy’s voice stopped her.

  ‘Andy ain’t with me, Mum.’ Tommy’s tone was flat and weary, and as he stumbled painfully into the front parlour, Ida was close on his heels.

  Dropping into an armchair by the fire, Tommy leant his head back gratefully against the soft upholstery.

  ‘Where the bleeding hell have you come from?’ Ida, her face muscles pulling and stretching in disbelief, came to stand by the armchair. Then, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, she moved to the wall and turned up the gas lamp. A startled gasp caught in her throat as she looked at her son properly. His army overcoat and trousers were filthy and his face hadn’t seen a razor or a bar of soap for a considerable time. His dark hair was matted and lank, and where he had undone the buttons of his coat, she could see the bloodied uniform beneath.

  Clutching the collar of her blouse, she dropped into the armchair opposite Tommy and said fearfully, ‘Yer’ve deserted, ain’t yer? That’s why my Andrew ain’t with yer. Yer’ve gone on the bleeding run an’ left yer brother behind, ain’t yer?’

  Tommy winced at the scornful tone in his mother’s voice. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he realised that his mother had dropped the posh vowels she normally used with her neighbours, but the fleeting thought vanished almost before it had begun to take shape. In a voice that was filled with tears he said, ‘Please, Mum, it ain’t like that. Look, can yer make me a cuppa? I ain’t had nothing to eat or drink fer days. Please, Mum, just let me get me breath, an’ I’ll tell yer the whole story.’

  Ida was about to refuse, then reluctantly she got to her feet and stamped off noisily into the scullery.

  Left alone, Tommy stared sightlessly into the flames, his mind wondering how he was going to tell his mother that Andy was dead. Oh, God! He pleaded silently. Help me, please.

  Unable to dwell on the painful task ahead of him, he let his mind drift back over the past few days. On the journey across the Channel he had kept up the pretence of being unable to understand what was going on around him. When a doctor finally came to examine him, Tommy had remained mute, refusing to acknowledge his presence. It was only when the doctor had said loudly, ‘There’s nothing the matter with this man, he can be shipped back once we land,’ that Tommy had jumped in fear. The doctor had looked down at him with a mixture of annoyance and compassion, saying, ‘I’m sorry, son, I can’t pass you as being unfit for duty. You’ll have to go back.’

  Knowing he was going on the run, Tommy had waited until nightfall before making his way to the galley. Once there, he had stuffed his pockets with dry biscuits to take with him on his journey, before making his way back to the deck.

  On landing at Southampton it had been easy enough to make a run for it amid the confusion of unloading the wounded. He had been given an old overcoat by one of the nurses on board the ship, and once out on the road he had been doubly grateful for the heavy garment, because it not only kept him warm, it also hid his blood-stained uniform. But he was still afraid that once the roll-call was taken and he was found to be missing, the police would come after him. With this in mind, he had kept away from the main roads as much as possible, trying to grab a few hours’ sleep during the day and walking by night. But, knowing there were seventy miles between Southampton and London, and without any idea which direction he should be heading in, he wasn’t sure if he was on the right track or going in the opposite direction. Finally, exhausted and driven to desperation, he had stopped a truck bound for Guildford. The driver had let Tommy sleep for a few hours, then, when his passenger had become evasive to his friendly questions, the middle-aged man had become suspicious, forcing Tommy to jump from the truck at the earliest opportunity.

  Afraid of being asked more questions, he had trudged wearily for three days and nights, barely stopping to rest, until another lorry pulled up beside him. He had gratefully clambered aboard, his need for rest outweighing the fear of discovery. Whether the driver hadn’t noticed his passenger’s condition or was simply turning a blind eye for reasons of his own, he had gruffly told Tommy to get some sleep. And although Tommy tried valiantly to stay awake, in case the man was going to drive him straight to the nearest police st
ation, he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open. The next thing he knew he was being roughly shaken awake. Jumping up in fear, he had found himself in Liverpool Street with the lorry driver leaning over him, but all the man said was, ‘Mind ’ow yer go, son.’

  Tommy had leapt from the cab, throwing a hasty ‘Thanks, mate’ over his shoulder. Once on familiar territory, he had cut down side turnings, with the collar of his overcoat turned up around his ears just in case he bumped into someone he knew.

  It was during the last part of his journey that the wall that Tommy’s mind had thrown up around Andy’s death began to crumble. And, as he relived his brother’s last moments, he felt the hot tears scalding his cheeks. And when he had gazed into Emily’s window and seen his child, he’d had forcibly to choke back another spasm of tears, for he feared that if he were to let them fall, he might never be able to stop.

  The warmth of the fire was making him drowsy, and with a reluctant struggle he sat up straighter, waiting for his mother’s return. Glancing down, he looked at his feet encased inside the heavy army boots. Months spent in the water and mud-filled trenches had rotted the leather, destroying any protection they might once have offered. Gingerly Tommy bent down and took the boots off, revealing threadbare socks and blistered, torn feet. Wincing with pain, he tried to take the socks off, but they were stuck fast into the open sores. His hands too were chaffed red-raw from the weather and from scrabbling in and out of ditches. The biscuits he had taken from the ship’s galley had long since been consumed, and now he was weak with hunger and thirst. Every part of his body ached, but most of all he ached with the stark, raw grief of knowing that he would never see his brother again. Never again laugh with him, or argue, or just simply enjoy the warm, comfortable feeling of knowing that he was close by.

  ‘Oh, Andy, I don’t half miss yer, Bruv. What am I going do without yer… I feel like… like half of me is missing, like I’ve been chopped in two, an’… an’ I’ll never be put back together again.’ The whispered words floated in the silent room.

  Tommy looked up as his mother reappeared, her face tight and grim as she banged down a mug of tea on the arm of the chair. Without a word he picked up the steaming mug, then winced as the scalding tea burnt his cracked lips. He didn’t look up, but he knew that his mother was watching him, condemning him, accusing him for leaving his brother; and this without even knowing that Andy was dead. He glanced down, then quickly averted his eyes from his blood-stained tunic. He had carried a part of his brother home with him. Andy’s blood – and the captain’s. Maybe he was dead as well now. If so, then Andy would have died for nothing.

  Tommy closed his eyes, praying silently as he tried to gather his courage for the ordeal ahead.

  ‘Oh, Mum, I need yer. I need yer now like I’ve never needed yer before. Not even like when I was little, an’ trying ter do anything I could ter please yer, ter make yer notice me, ter give me a cuddle, like yer did with Andy. Please! You’re me mum, can’t yer see I’m hurting, dying inside. I need yer, Mum, don’t turn yer back on me. Please, Mum… Please!’

  ‘Well, I’m waiting.’ The curt, harsh tone held only impatience, and Tommy knew that he really was alone now. His hand trembling, he laid the mug down by the fireside, then turned towards the woman who was looking at him as if he’d just crawled out from under a stone. And it was that look… that almost contemptuous glare, that infused a spark of anger in Tommy’s tortured mind.

  His eyes dull, he ground out slowly, ‘Yeah, I did desert, but I was half out of me head at the time. Still, it’s no more than yer’d expect from me, is it?’ The glance he shot his mother made the silent woman jump, but almost immediately she recovered and continued to stare at him, her eyes openly hostile.

  Tommy swung his head in despair.

  ‘Aw, what’s the use? Yer ain’t interested in anything I do, yer never have been. Well, I’m sorry ter disappoint yer, but yer won’t have the pleasure of seeing me in front of a firing squad, ’cos I’m going back. I’ll have a good night’s kip, an’ a decent meal down the chip shop – don’t worry, I won’t ask yer ter cook me a dinner. I wouldn’t want ter put yer out,’ the hurt was forcing him to adopt a tone similar to his mother’s. Then, without stopping to think, he added, ‘An’ I’ll stop an’ spend some time with me son before I go back, an’ all. At least I’ll get a warmer welcome over at Emily’s…’ He trailed off as he realised what he had said. He watched as his mother’s eyes widened in disbelief, then, just as he was going to put his hand out to her, she gave a short, abrasive laugh.

  ‘Huh, so it’s yours, is it? And there was me thinking she’d dropped on her back fer that old geezer she worked fer. I always said she was no better than she oughter be, fer all her airs an’ graces. And her mate, too. They’re well matched, the pair of them, a couple of slags if ever I saw them. And you went with one of them – or did yer have them both? It wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing yer’ve ever done surprises me. Thank gawd I’ve got one son ter be proud of. He didn’t turn tail and run, did he? Not like you. Oh, no, not my Andrew. He’d never desert and bring me shame, he…’

  It was too much for Tommy. A wealth of anger combined with grief surged through him, and before he knew what he was saying, he leant forward in the chair and bawled into Ida’s face, ‘He’s dead. Andy’s dead. D’yer hear me, Mum. He’s dead. That’s why I ran. I couldn’t bear it. I was half out of me mind, so I turned and ran, and I’ve been running ever since… Mum… Mum…!’ His voice dropped back to its normal pitch, his eyes now filled with silent pleading for a kind word, a gentle touch of reassurance. Any sign of compassion would have lifted his spirits, but the woman opposite him seemed to have turned to stone.

  Ida Carter sat frozen, her face bleached white from the shock of hearing those words. It couldn’t be true, not her Andrew. Yet she knew. Deep inside her, she had known something was wrong the minute Tommy turned up without Andrew. For those two had been inseparable since the time they were able to crawl. Oh, God! What was she going to do? Why wasn’t she crying? Why wasn’t she howling her grief from the rooftops, because that’s what she felt like doing? Why couldn’t it have been the other one? Him. Why couldn’t he have been the one to die? It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. And he had lived long enough to father a son. Even if he went back and was killed, he would still have left something of himself behind. Whereas her Andrew would never have the chance now. A slow, burning rage began to sweep through her body, blocking out everything except the need to lash out, to hurt someone as she was hurting, and by doing so keep at bay the grief that was threatening to tear her apart.

  Getting to her feet, she looked down at Tommy’s bowed head and, her upper lip curled as if witnessing something foul, she snarled, ‘Why couldn’t it have been you? If one of yer had ter die, then why couldn’t it have been you!’

  Tommy blinked back the hot tears stinging his eyes. He should never have come. He must have been mad to think he could get any comfort from his mother.

  ‘I’m going ter bed fer a couple of hours, then I’ll be on me way, so yer don’t have ter worry about ever seeing my face again. Goodbye, Mum.’ He walked painfully towards the stairs, then he stopped. Without turning, he said softly, ‘I loved him too, Mum. An’… an’ just so as yer know, I wish it had been me too, ’cos right now I don’t know how I’m gonna go on living without him.’

  Ida watched the ragged body climb the stairs. Then, her face grim, she snatched her coat from the back of the door and went out into the cold, dark night.

  * * *

  ‘’Ere, I wonder what all that’s about?’ Emily and Doris had just returned from the pub to find everyone in the street and a black Maria parked outside the Carters’ house. Pushing through the small crowd, the two women looked across the road, their arms linked against the freezing wind. Pulling her black cloche hat further down over her ears, Doris said brightly, ‘Maybe old Ma Carter’s been caught entertaining gentlemen on the quiet. I always said there was something funny about her,’ b
ut her voice held a note of uneasiness. Then she jumped violently, as did Emily beside her, their expressions turning to horror as the familiar voice, charged with anguish, carried from the open doorway.

  ‘NO… NO, I’m gonna go back on me own. Look,… listen ter me, will yer? I was gonna go back in the morning. Ask me mum, she’ll tell yer, Mum… Mum…!’Tommy was being dragged from his home by three burly policemen, their faces grim. Twisting and turning, Tommy fought the men, his eyes frantically seeking out his mother, who was standing just a few feet away in the shadows. ‘Mum, Mum, fer Gawd’s sake, tell ‘em. Help me, Mum, help me.’

  As Tommy continued to struggle violently, one of the policemen yanked his arm up behind his back and thundered, ‘It’s no use shouting fer yer mum, son. She’s the one who turned yer in – isn’t that right, missus?’ The policeman stared hard at Ida, his expression one of disgust. Gasps of surprise and outrage came at them from all sides, and Ida tightened the shawl around her chest defiantly. Then Emily and Doris were fighting with the officers, trying to prise Tommy from their grasp, their high-pitched cries piercing the still night air.

  ‘Let him go, yer bastards, let him go.’ Doris was pummelling a broad back with her fists, her long brown hair swirling round her face and shoulders as she tried desperately to loosen the policemen’s hold on Tommy. Emily too was crying with rage, as she took several swipes with her handbag at the officers. A helmet was knocked off in the struggle, and as the man bent to retrieve it, Emily planted a well-aimed kick at his backside.