Chocolate Girls

by Annie Murray

  He stretched and got to his feet, yawning. She was suddenly conscious of just how tall he was. ‘It’s horribly late. We should really try to fit in some sleep. Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said sleepily. She felt suddenly warm and drowsy and wished she could curl up and sleep in the depot. But she soon woke up again when, tucked into the sidecar of his motorcycle, she was whizzing along in the very cold, smoky night air, his scarf, which he had gallantly lent her, wrapped round her neck. The sky still glowed pink. It was half past five when he deposited her outside her mother’s house, reaching for her hand to help her climb out. His gloved hand dwarfed hers. She was conscious that she must look a frightful mess, covered in dust and hair all over the place. Good job it’s still dark, she thought. Then she chastised herself bitterly for being so ridiculous. He’s married, and in any case I am not interested in men. They’re too much trouble altogether.

  She stood on the pavement, unsteady with tiredness.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ she said, in formal tones. ‘I’m very grateful.’

  Martin gave an amused smile which grated on her. What did he want her to do? Grovel with gratitude?

  ‘A pleasure,’ he said.

  There was an awkward silence and she was about to turn away, but then the voice came again through the darkness.

  ‘It sounds awful to say it, but I’ve enjoyed tonight.’

  ‘Good. Well, I’m sure it won’t be the last time.’

  ‘I hope that Mrs Rossi is all right.’

  ‘Yes,’ Janet said more softly. ‘Horrible.’

  ‘Anyway, see you again perhaps.’ He revved up, gave her a brief wave, and was off.

  ‘Goodbye – Oh! I’ve still got your scarf!’ But he was gone, the roar of the motorcycle receding in the distance. She turned to go inside, reaching into her pocket for her key. She felt overwhelmed by exhaustion, and a sudden sense of anticlimax.

  Edie settled Lizzie and her brother to sleep under the table in the front room. She brought a mattress down from one of the beds and they covered it with copies of the Birmingham Despatch for the woman, Alicia Jewel, to settle on. Mrs Lordly, who seemed to be in her element, rattled pans in the scullery, prepared water, found a sharp knife, string. She looked out two candles and stood them, lit, in saucers on the table with the lamp. Every so often there came a thump from outside and the windows rattled, but Edie found she had almost forgotten the raid, so caught up was she by the drama going on inside.

  Mrs Lordly, hands on her broad hips, had ordered Alicia to lie on her back. But as soon as another bout of pain swept over her she scrambled on to her knees again. Edie was very nervous. Memories of her own labour came flashing back to her, raw and terrible. The agony, the fear. This was not Alicia’s first time, and she was older than Edie, but the pain was the same. All it would take to make it easier would be a little kindness. She found herself drawn to the woman’s side, kneeling down, taking her hand as she wished someone had done when she’d birthed and lost her baby.

  ‘We’ll help you, bab.’ She was surprised at the tender motherliness she heard in her own voice. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t leave you. It’ll be all right.’

  She felt an answering squeeze. ‘It’s getting close,’ the woman panted. ‘My waters went ages back.’ She gave a sob, released by Edie’s kindness. ‘Oh God, the pain . . . I can’t do it again, I can’t!’

  ‘You can,’ Edie said, touched. ‘You’ve done it before, haven’t you? You can do it.’

  Edie stroked her back. She was wearing a threadbare navy dress with tiny white polka dots all over it. Edie could feel the heat coming off her and she smelt pun-gently of sweat. Edie found her own breathing tuning in with Alicia’s.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Mrs Lordly appeared again, her pudgy face furious. ‘Lie down again – you can’t carry on like that, it’s a disgrace!’

  Alicia, who was at the height of her pain, took no notice.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Edie said, worried. ‘Does she need to lie down? Will she hurt herself?’

  ‘I’m not having her on her hands and knees like . . . like an animal! I said lie down, Mrs Jewel.’

  Leave her alone! Edie wanted to scream. Can’t you see she’s in pain?

  ‘You must lie down,’ Mrs Lordly commanded afterwards. Edie loathed her bullying tone. Why did she have to carry on like this?

  ‘I couldn’t ’elp it,’ Alice said, turning back on to her back. She was frightened of Mrs Lordly. ‘Only when the pain starts it’s just what I do.’

  ‘Well, you must try to control yourself,’ Mrs Lordly said, tight-lipped.

  The pains were coming even closer together now and Edie found it almost unbearable to watch. Alicia groaned through two more on her back, seeming in even greater pain, as Mrs Lordly stood over her. With the next one she cried, ‘I’m not doing what you say!’ and twisted back on to her knees.

  ‘Disgusting,’ Mrs Lordly commented. She was sitting on the chair now. ‘And do stop smothering her, Mrs Weale. None of that is necessary. She’s only in pup.’

  Edie could feel her temper rising, but she tried to choke it back. ‘I’m just trying to help,’ she muttered.

  ‘Oh God,’ Alicia moaned, falling forward in exhaustion. ‘I can’t . . .’

  ‘You can!’ Edie urged. ‘You’re nearly there.’

  ‘Do try to control yourself,’ Mrs Lordly instructed.

  ‘Have you got children yourself?’ Edie asked, only just succeeding in keeping a civil tone. God help them if you have, she wanted to add.

  ‘I’ve two sons, thank you. And I certainly didn’t make all this fuss bringing them into the world. Nor did my sister, and I delivered both of hers.’

  Edie bit her lip and tried to block the woman’s heavy body out of her view. Dried-up old cow! Why were people so nasty?

  She lost track of time, of everything except the events of the birth. At last, after what felt like days, the intensity of it reached a peak.

  ‘It’s coming!’ Alicia shouted. She braced herself on her hands and knees and, short of physically throwing her on her back, there was nothing Mrs Lordly could do about it. After several more acute waves of pain the woman began to push the baby out. Mrs Lordly, Edie had to acknowledge, seemed to know what she was doing, and with a final groan Alicia had delivered herself of a little girl. As she slithered out, Edie watched, mesmerized, completely possessed by the moment.

  ‘Breathe!’ Fists clenched, she entreated the tiny figure, hardly realizing the thought had escaped through her lips. ‘Oh, breathe and be all right – please . . .’

  The tiny infant made a small choking sound and Mrs Lordly cleared something out of her mouth. There came a thin, but full-throated wail.

  Edie sank down on to her knees again, the tears pouring down her face.

  ‘My baby,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh my little baby.’ Grief poured out of her sharp and raw. She had barely glimpsed her little boy, her poor, dead child, had never held him before they whisked him away like something dirty. How could they have just snatched him from his mother without even letting her see him and say goodbye properly?

  Walking home that night, leaving Alicia lying with her sweet daughter, and the smoke-filled sky quiet at last, Edie wept and wept. Living with Alicia through the intense, primal birthing of her child had ripped the surface off her inner wounds, leaving her raw and hurting. She sobbed her pain to the empty streets. Oh God, would she ever get over the ache of wanting to hold a baby of her own in her arms?

  Fourteen

  One evening in early November, after dark, Ethel Bonner heard a knock at her door in Glover Road.

  ‘Blast it, who can that be? And calling at the front an’ all.’ She’d just settled in her chair with a steaming cup of tea and didn’t have the energy to get up. ‘Get the door, Alfie.’

  Eight-year-old Alf scampered along and tugged open the door on its stiff hinges. Outside in the dusk stood a short man with a neat little moustache, wearing a natty pinstriped suit with flamb
oyant lapels, his hat held against his chest as if in preparation for making a speech.

  ‘’Ello there, sonny.’ The man spoke in the tones of a Cockney bus conductor, though Alf was quite oblivious to this fact and just stared, mouth agape, at this apparition on the doorstep. ‘Is your muvver in the ’ouse terdie?’

  Ethel, ears pricked in the back room, felt her heart beat quicker. There was something familiar about that voice and she struggled to place it. Surely it couldn’t be . . .?

  ‘Mom – there’s a man . . .’

  ‘Well, didn’t yer ask his name?’ she scolded, hauling herself exhaustedly up from the chair.

  At the front door she stood looking at him for a few seconds as the years peeled back.

  ‘Mimi! It is you, isn’t it?’ The visitor cried melodramatically, throwing out his arms as if to embrace her. The Cockney bus conductor had transformed into a lovesick Clark Gable. ‘My darling, at last I’ve found you!’

  Ethel’s knees went weak on hearing her old stage name and her hand went to her heart. ‘No,’ she managed to say at last. ‘Surely not, Ernie Dempsey?’

  ‘The very man! Mimi has not forgotten me!’ Now there was a touch of the tragic Shakespearian. ‘Oh, to be so remembered by posterity!’

  ‘Ernie – what’re . . .? My God! Well I never . . .’ Ethel spluttered. ‘What in heaven’s name’re you doing here?’

  Switching to a roguish Dublin brogue he protested, ‘Sure, are you not going to invite me in, Mimi sweetheart, now I’m after coming all this way?’

  Chuckling, Ethel held the door open. ‘You’d better come through to the back,’ she said, thanking her stars she’d just tidied up. ‘There’s tea in the pot. Billy, pour Mr Dempsey a cuppa will you?’ Up close to his ear she added, ‘And make sure the cup ain’t chipped.’

  ‘These are your boys?’ Ernie Dempsey asked, laying his hat in the table.

  ‘This is Alfie, my youngest. Do sit down, Ernie, yes, take that seat, by the fire and warm yourself up. That’s Billy in there, he’s ten.’ Billy brought Mr Dempsey his tea and the two boys hovered in the background listening, fascinated.

  Ethel brought a chair up close. She felt horribly conscious of the rough state she’d allowed herself to get in since she’d last seen her former colleague. When would that have been? Fifteen years or more ago. Ernie Dempsey! Still looked just the same, only older of course. How old must he be now? Let’s see, she was forty-two, which put Ernie well on into his fifties. He was still full of his sweeping theatrical gestures and bewildering way of talking in different accents, as if he consisted of a whole array of people occupying the same body. It was his way of covering up his shyness. He’d settle down, she remembered, once they got talking, into his usual soft Brummie accent. She ran her hand over her hair. What a colourless mess it looked! She’d have put a touch of rouge on, if only she’d known he was coming!

  Ernie sat, rubbing his hands along his thighs. ‘But by my recollection you had a daughter, did you not?’

  ‘Ruby’s the eldest, Ernie. She was just wed a few months back. A nice young man – away now of course, RAF.’ She felt proud saying that. ‘Ruby was given a position at Cadbury’s. Still there, she is, and her brother George who came next. Then there’s Perce, ’e’s fifteen now so ’e’s at work. Thing is, Ernie – we’ve had a bad couple of years. I lost Sid just over two years ago and I’ve found it hard to pick myself up. Got in a right state to tell you the truth.’ Tears welled in her eyes and she wiped them away. ‘We was very happy together, me and Sid, all these years. He ’ad a growth, you see – only lasted a few months.’

  ‘Poor Mimi.’ Ernie reached out and clasped her plump hand with genuine tenderness.

  She squeezed his, then withdrew her hand. ‘Don’t, Ernie. Don’t get me started.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘Tell me about yourself. How’re you both – Edna well?’

  ‘Edna’s in very good health now. We had a bit of a bad do, oh, three years back, but she seems to be over that now.’

  ‘And—’ she asked hesitantly. ‘You didn’t have children?’

  ‘Alas, no . . .’ For a moment Ernie retreated again behind one of his theatrical personae. ‘The fates decreed that it was not to be . . .’ Ethel saw a glimpse of the pain this had given him in his face, then he smiled chirpily. ‘But it has meant that Edna and I have had a marvellous working life together. We’ve been touring a great deal – settling for a time here and there. Blackpool, the south coast, vistas of windswept grey sand . . .!’ He picked up his cup and saucer and sipped his tea. ‘Times were getting very lean though, the last few years. I’m afraid Edna and I had had our heyday.’ He laughed self-mockingly, looking up at her, and Ethel realized she was being sized up. She felt herself shrink under his gaze. What must he think of her? She tried to tuck her feet back so that her skirt hid them. Her ankles were swollen and she was wearing her awful old shoes! She’d let herself go badly, and it hurt her. She was nothing but a fat, blowzy old woman.

  ‘I’ve been a bit any’ow lately, Ernie,’ she said, miserably.

  ‘Not a bit of it, Mimi love.’ Again, he touched her hand. ‘You’ve been through a difficult time of it. Now – you listen to me.’ For a moment he was back to the Cockney bus conductor role. ‘Uncle Ernie’s got just the ticket to lift you out of yourself. How would you like,’ he leaned back and paused, to maximize the dramatic effect of his words, ‘to work again? With me?’

  Ethel stared dumbfounded at him. ‘Work? Me? What on earth are you going on about, Ernie? I’m on my own here with five to look after, no husband . . .’

  ‘Well, surely that’s all the more reason to earn some money, although I can’t promise fabulous wages . . .’

  ‘But look at the state of me!’

  ‘Ethel, Mimi,’ Ernie put his cup down and sat forward, speaking urgently. ‘War’s a terrible thing, but it does bring with it certain opportunities for people like us. Two years ago I was put out to pasture, finished, and I knew it. Edna gets the odd character role here and there, but we knew we’d had our time. Suddenly, bam!’ He punched his left hand with his right fist, ‘Mr Hitler. Things look even worse. They close all the theatres and picture houses so it’s looking bad for everyone. Curtains. But what we’ve got now is factories full of people, overworked and blue and hungry for any kind of entertainment. And old Ernie Dempsey manages to land himself a nice little job with ENSA.’

  Ethel gave a faint smile. ‘The entertainment people?’

  ‘That’s us – Every Night Something Awful. Anyroad, they have all the bands in and the professional troups, but Joe Loss and Geraldo can’t be everywhere – nor the pros from the Rep and the Alex. They can’t keep up with the demand for concerts and shows. So, I’m getting together a little variety group of old hands. So far I’ve got Alf Lonsdale—’

  Ethel let out the most full-hearted laugh any of them had heard from her for a very long time. ‘Not that old devil, oh deary me, his jokes were out of the ark back in nineteen twenty-five!’

  ‘Well, he’s aboard, and Dot O’Sullivan, remember her?’

  ‘Oh yes, God love ’er. Still doing the same old character pieces?’

  ‘Variations on a theme, let’s say. And a few younger ones. But you were a real goer in your day Ethel, and you still could be. Why don’t you come and join us?’

  Ethel stopped laughing, seeing he was serious. ‘But Ernie – look at me! I can’t dance any more! I ain’t had a pair of dance shoes on for as long as I can remember.’

  ‘No, but I bet you can still sing given half the chance. You used to be able to belt them out like no one else I know. None of us is a spring chicken any more, but I bet you could do a few moves. Bit of a song and dance routine – they’d love it.’ He went over to the long-silent piano and lifted the lid, teased out a few chords. ‘That’s what they want, a good sing-song with someone who knows how to jolly ’em along!’

  ‘Oh Ernie—’ Ethel smiled at the sound of the old piano. She could barely trust the flicker of hope that ignit
ed in her. Could she have some sort of life again after everything had felt so dead and buried for so long? ‘Oh no – I couldn’t!’

  ‘Mimi love—’ He came over to her again. ‘Once a performer, always a performer. It’s in the blood. What I’d like to say to you this evening is, welcome aboard the troup to my old pal Mimi Cohoon. We’ll have a ball, you and me and Edna. Like old times.’

  ‘But, Ernie.’ Ethel tried to keep her excitement within bounds. He didn’t think she was past it, past everything, the way she’d felt for months now. He really thought she could do it! A flush of pleasure rose in her cheeks.

  ‘Go on, Mom,’ Billy said from behind her, and Ethel jumped.

  ‘Oh Lor’ – I’d forgotten you two were listening in!’

  ‘Would you be on the stage again, all dressed up and that?’ Billy asked.

  ‘She would indeed, young man,’ Ernie said. ‘And wouldn’t that be fine? Your mother,’ he added solemnly, ‘has the voice of a nightingale.’

  ‘More like a foghorn,’ Ethel chuckled. ‘Look, Ernie, this is all very well, and I’m more grateful to you than I can say. But I can’t just launch into summat like this. I’d have to speak to Ruby, and George. They’ve been golden, the pair of ’em, while I’ve not been myself, and if this is going to make life too difficult for them I’ll have to let it go.’

  ‘Oh, go on, Mom,’ Billy said. ‘Our Ruby won’t mind.’

  ‘When will she be home?’ Ernie asked.

  Ethel looked at the clock. ‘George is on firewatch tonight, but our Ruby’ll be back within the next half-hour I should think. I mean you can wait if you want but if there’s a raid you’re going to get stuck here.’

  ‘Well, that wouldn’t be an entirely tragic occurrence, would it?’ He lapsed back into his Shakespearian mode of speech.