by Annie Groves
‘Yes … yes, of course …’
Jan’s wife had committed suicide. Bella couldn’t bring herself to look at Lena. She felt sick with shock and disbelief. She had known that Jan’s wife suffered mental problems caused by the German invasion of her home town, but she had never imagined that they would lead to her taking her own life. How dreadful. Bella shuddered to think of the mental suffering Jan’s poor wife must have endured. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have one’s country invaded, its men killed and taken away and its women … Bella bit down hard on her bottom lip. Jan had told her how his wife had witnessed soldiers raping another girl and how it had damaged her mentally.
‘Bella, how long are you going to be out there, only my bed needs a hot-water bottle?’
‘Coming now, Mother. Lena, you’d better go. Gavin will be worrying about you. I’ll telephone and tell him that you’re on your way back.’
‘I’m ever so sorry that I’ve had to give you such bad news, Bella.’
Bella nodded. As grateful as she was to Lena, all she really wanted was to be on her own.
‘You’re not to go dwelling on it now, mind, and upsetting yourself, Bella. Promise you won’t,’ Lena appealed to her.
‘Of course I won’t,’ Bella assured her, but they both knew that she was lying.
Jan’s wife was dead–had deliberately killed herself. It was gone midnight and Bella was still wide awake, lying in bed, her eyes burningly dry because she couldn’t cry, and her heart filled with bleakness and guilt.
It was impossible for her not to ask herself if her love for Jan and his for her might have played a part in the appalling tragedy. If somehow his wife had sensed that Jan had given his love to someone else and that had tipped her over the final dreadful edge into self-destruction.
She had told Jan, and he had agreed, that he was married and that because of that there could be nothing between them; that they must not even think of one another, never mind communicate or see one another. They must, she had told him, remember, respect and uphold the vows he had made to his wife, in their thoughts as well as their actions. She had sworn to use her love for him to help him to be a good husband to his wife. She had told him that the only way she wanted him to prove his love for her was by being that good husband and loving his wife. She had said that in loving his wife he would be loving her, Bella.
‘I could never live with myself if I thought that I had contributed in any way to your wife’s unhappiness,’ she had said and she had meantthose words, even though the pain of knowing that they could not love one another had been tearing her apart–and still tore her apart whenever she slipped and gave in to the temptation to think of him and what might have been.
Bella didn’t blame Jan for marrying someone else. He had had his reasons. Good reasons, reasons that proved what a wonderful man he was. His wife was–had been–the daughter of close friends of Jan’s own parents. She and her father had escaped to England from Poland but it had only been after their marriage that Jan had realised the damage the atrocities she had witnessed had done to her emotions and her mind.
Jan could have had his marriage annulled. Their marriage had not been a proper one nor ever would be, Jan had believed, but Bella had sensed that despite her behaviour towards Jan, his poor damaged wife needed him, and so he must stay, and she must step back.
Giving Jan up had never ceased to cause her pain, a deep inner private pain that had become a constant companion, a new part of herself that she had to embrace and accept as the price of loving him. The news Lena had brought her would not end that pain. How could it? If Bettina was right and his poor deranged wife had taken her own life, then there could be no future happiness for her and Jan as a couple. Her ghost and their own guilt would forever stand between them, and they were guilty, Bella was sure of it. Guilty of loving one another; guilty because that love might have contributed to Jan’s wife’s death.
And yet a part of her longed to go to Jan, to be with him to comfort him and to share this burden with him, to offer him the full measure of her love for him in whatever way he chose to take it, from her words, from her presence, from her touch and even from her body. There was nothing of herself she wanted to hold back, and everything of herself she wanted to give to him. But of course she could not do so; must not do so.
She must instead remember that hers had been the roof under which Jan’s mother and sister had been billeted, and that Jan had been the son who had visited them there, and that was all. She must in every way behave as that role dictated, and no other way–not now, not ever. She would not besmirch the status of the young wife who had died, or the love she herself had for Jan by doing anything that would tarnish them.
In the morning she must write to Jan’s mother, expressing her sympathy, and ask her to pass that sympathy on to Jan and his father-in-law. She must ask about the funeral arrangements, and organised sending flowers, and she must … she must not cry. But it was too late, she was already doing so, acid tears that burned her heart.
EIGHT
‘So you didn’t see Lou, then? And there was me feeling jealous because I thought the two of you would be out dancing together and that she’d be doing her best to persuade you to drop me and join the WAAF.’
‘That’s the last thing I’d want to do,’ Sasha assured Bobby, as they strolled hand in hand down to the ferry. Bobby had got a rare whole Saturday afternoon off, and so had she, and so they were going to take the ferry over to Wallasey and enjoy themselves. His wholesome good-natured face shone with happiness, his dark brown hair ruffling slightly in the breeze despite the application of brylcream, and his bright blue eyes sparkling. Everything about Bobby made her feel safe and comfortable, Sasha acknowledged. His jokes made her laugh, and she really liked listening to his soft north-east accent, but it was that lovely safe feeling that being with him gave her that she liked best.
‘I’m quite happy working at the telephone exchange.’
‘Oh, and there I was thinking it was me you didn’t want to leave.’
Bobby was laughing but Sasha could see the question in his eyes.
‘You know that Mum and Dad made me promise that we wouldn’t start going steady properly,’ she reminded him. ‘They think I’m too young.’
‘A baby,’ Bobby agreed, adding unsteadily and with fierce emphasis, ‘my baby Sash, and one day, I hope, not just my girl but mine for ever.’
‘Oh, Bobby.’
There was a corner up ahead of them, and noone in sight, so Bobby took the opportunity to pull Sasha close and hold her tightly in his arms, whilst he kissed her fiercely.
Sasha felt her heart leap against her ribs. She’d be for it if her parents knew what she was doing, but she loved Bobby so very much.
‘It’s so unfair,’ she told him when he had released her, both of them checking they hadn’t been seen, before continuing to walk towards the ferry. ‘Mum wasn’t much older than me when she married Dad. I know how I feel, and with this war …’ She shivered and Bobby knew that it wasn’t because of the cool April breeze.
Bobby was a sapper with a bomb disposal unit, wearing the uniform that belonged to those men who had the shortest life span of any within the armed services. Since Sasha had known him, which was not even a year yet, two of the men in his unit had been killed when a bomb they had been disarming had gone off, and three more hadbeen so badly injured that, according to Bobby, if he’d been them he would rather have been dead.
The wind coming in off the sea tousled Sasha’s short curls, and Bobby brushed them off her face. She was so pretty, his Sasha, and he loved her so much that sometimes he felt when he was with her that his heart was going to burst with all that he felt for her.
‘Nothing’s going to happen to me,’ he reassured her. ‘I’ve got nine lives, like a cat, according to me mam.’
‘Does she know about me?’ Sasha asked him.
‘What do you think?’ Bobby teased her tenderly. ‘Of course she does.’
&n
bsp; ‘What did you say to her about me? What did she say?’
‘I said, Mam, I’ve met the girl who’s going to be your daughter-in-law, only she’s got this twin sister who doesn’t want her to have anything to do with me, and this mam and dad who say she’s too young to be going steady, but her and me, Mam, well, we know different. We know how we feel about one another, and given me own way, her and me would be wed just as soon as we could get the banns read.’
‘You never said that to her,’ Sasha protested, half scandalised and half thrilled.
‘Well, I would have done if she’d had the time to listen to me for more than half a second. She’d got our Pauline round and her kids, and me other sister, Jane, had come home on account of her having a set-to with her hubby, and me nan and granddad were there as well, putting in their twopennyworth about everything, so I just sort of let them know by mentioning your name and saying as how you were the prettiest girl in the whole of Liverpool.’
Sasha pulled a face. ‘You know that’s not true. Grace is the pretty one in our family and—’
‘It’s true for me,’ Bobby told her, ‘and I meant what I said about wanting us to get married, Sash. Promise me that you will when your mum and dad say you can?’
‘I promise,’ Sasha told him gladly.
They were across the road from the ticket office for the ferry now, and if they hadn’t been in full view of the people jostling amiably to form a queue Sasha knew that Bobby would have kissed her again and that she would have let him.
‘I haven’t told you properly about Lou yet,’ she reminded him when they joined the queue. ‘Mum was ever so upset, I could tell, even though she didn’t say much.’
‘What happened?’
Bobby was always pleasant enough about Lou but Sasha knew that he resented Lou’s attitude towards him, which was one of open hostility. He knew, though, that Lou was Sasha’s twin and that she loved her, and so because of that he didn’t say too much about her.
‘She couldn’t come home because she’d been put on a charge.’
Bobby made a sound of disapproval mixed with resignation.
The ferry was in now, its passengers disembarked, and it was ready for them to start boarding.
‘I thought when it came out that she’d joined up that there’d be trouble. If she couldn’t take the discipline at the telephone exchange she certainly won’t be able to take it in the Forces,’ Sasha told Bobby as the queue moved forward, allowing them to get on board and find seats. ‘I think she was really enjoying being in the WAAFS before this happened. I just wish that …’
‘That what?’ Bobby asked once he had made sure that they had found somewhere out of the wind for Sasha. He was kind and thoughtful, Sasha thought appreciatively, slipping her hand into his beneath the cover of his jacket and her cardigan.
‘Well, that she wasn’t quite so much like she is, Bobby. Why couldn’t she have stayed here in Liverpool at the telephone exchange? It was what Mum and Dad wanted her to do. She could have partnered up with one of those friends of yours you tried to introduce her to, and we could have gone out as a foursome. It would all have been so perfect, but Lou had to go and be difficult.’
There was genuine misery in Sasha’s voice, which caught at Bobby’s heart.
‘You don’t want to go getting yourself all upset over her, Sasha. I know she’s your twin but she’s not like you.’
‘No, she isn’t,’ Sasha agreed sadly. ‘I could never have done what she’s done, Bobby–you know, joined the WAAF. Lou’s always been the brave one. I do miss her, but just lately whenever we’re together we seem to end up falling out about… about something.’
‘About me, you mean,’ Bobby corrected her. He was a fair-minded young man, and he loved his Sasha more than enough to want her happiness above everything else. ‘I dare say me coming along put Lou’s nose out of joint a bit,’ he continued when Sasha didn’t say anything, ‘and I dare say too that I’d have felt the same in her shoes.’
‘But you and me being like we are didn’t have to mean that me and Lou had to fall out. I don’t want it to be with me and her like it is with Mum and Auntie Vi, Bobby. Lou’s put out with me because after … well, you know, after that dancing business that I told you about she wanted us both to promise that we wouldn’t let any boy come between us, but that was before I knew how it was going to be with you and me.’
‘She’ll come round,’ Bobby tried to comfort her. ‘You’ll see.’
Sasha realised that Bobby wanted to reassure her, but she knew Lou better than he did, and she knew how stubborn her twin could be when something or someone got her back up. They weren’t children any more, though, and unlike in their schooldays she wasn’t going to give in and do as Lou wanted for the sake of peace and quiet.
‘Ah, Connor, you are a very good man. You make my visit here to your theatre where I sing for the people of Liverpool a most wonderful experience.’
Con flashed his trademark wide smile in the direction of the large-bosomed woman who was currently the Royal Court’s leading female singer.
‘Only the best is good enough for the Royal Court’s artistes, Eva,’ he responded.
They were only halfway through the evening’s show, and Eva had caught him just as he had been about to sneak out to the pub to warn the landlord that he was going to need his upstairs room tomorrow night for a card game.
‘You are so kind,’ Eva breathed, placing her hand on his arm, the rings on her fingers catching the light. ‘Kind, but something here within me -’ Eva touched her magnificent chest in a theatrical gesture before looking deeply into Con’s eyes with burning intensity– ‘here in my heart, that power I have inherited from my forebears, tells me that you are a very lonely man, Connor. A man who yearns for the comfort and the pleasure that only a very special woman can give him.’
Or, in fact, several very special women, Con thought, especially when one of them was the luscious young dancer who had just joined the chorus line, blonde, with legs up to her armpits, baby-blue come-to-bed eyes, and a certain something about her that told Con that his planned conquest of her was going to be successful.
‘You are a little alarmed, I think, that I should have this power to see into your heart,’ Eva was telling him, ‘but you must not be. I am a woman of great passion, a woman who knows how to please a man who is worthy of her.’
Eva was moving closer to him as she spoke, pressing her body up against his on the narrow staircase.
Alarm bells began to ring inside Con’s head. Eva was making up to him, there was no doubt about that, and he couldn’t afford to offend her,there was no doubt about that either, but as for what he suspected she was suggesting … She was closer to thirty-five than eighteen, and not his type at all.
‘I am right, aren’t I?’ Eva was demanding.
‘What? Oh, listen, there’s the interval bell ringing,’ Con warned her, determinedly stepping back from her so that she was forced to release him. ‘You don’t want to be late for your second half solo.’
‘I shall sing just for you,’ Eva assured him, ‘and then after the show we shall have dinner together, and open our hearts to one another.’
Over his dead body, Con thought as he smiled at her again, whilst inwardly cursing the fact that Harriet Smith, his now retired secretary, who had been with the Royal Court Theatre for years and who had known exactly how to protect him from women like Eva, had taken it into her head to leave Liverpool and go and live in Bournemouth with her brother.
Stu and Paul were waiting for him outside the stage door to the theatre, falling in behind him as Con headed for the pub tucked down a back alley behind St John’s Market, ignoring the shells of buildings, casting dark shadows in the moonlight, that had been bombed in the dreadful air raids that had nearly destroyed the city in the early part of May 1941.
Striding ahead of his henchmen, Con ignored them. He prided himself on being a snappy dresser, even in these times of rationing and utility clothing. Like the wi
de boys and spivs who sold their illegalgoods on the black market, Con favoured pinstripe suits, although he liked to top his with a smart camel-hair top coat, with a nice bit of velvet on the collar, just like the big impressarios of the West End, whose photographs he’d seen in Variety, liked to wear.
Con liked to arrive at the pub before the Americans but tonight, thanks to Eva, he was running late and reached the pub to find they were waiting for him.
One of them was Chip, the young American who had had to be warned not to be a sore loser. Con shrugged inwardly. If Chip wanted to lose even more money then why should he care?
‘Good to see you, boys,’ he smiled as he directed them towards the side of the building where the door that the landlord had left unlocked for him led straight to the stairs to the private room.
‘We’ve brought Ricky with us tonight,’ another of the Americans told Con once they were all upstairs.
‘Once I’d heard they’d found a good poker game there was no way they were going to stop me joining in,’ Ricky told Con as Con reached out to shake his hand.
Con prided himself on the firmness of his own handshake but the American, for all that he wasn’t particularly tall or even thickset, had a grip that left white pressure marks on Con’s flesh.
‘Chip says you play a mean game of cards,’ Ricky told Con as they all sat down at the table, Ricky deftly beating Stu to the chair next to Con’s.
Con shrugged, assuming the affability of a man with a clear conscience. ‘I’ve just been lucky.’
‘Well, I’ll just to have to hope that some of your good luck rubs off on me,’ Ricky responded, smiling at Con as he reached into his pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes, offering Con one, which Con refused, going instead into his own pocket to get one of his favourite brand of cigars, along with two packs of playing cards. The cigar was black market, of course, but Con could afford them, thanks to the Americans.