Chocolate Girls

by Annie Murray

  His favourite pastime of the moment was throwing pebbles into the little brook which ran through the park, and he was soon trotting up and down, pink knees visible between short trousers and socks, absorbed in picking up every stone he could find and earnestly watching the splash it made. Edie stood watching, hugging her old black coat round her, enjoying the winter sun on her face, loving the sight of ‘her’ boy playing. She felt suddenly lighthearted. The sirens very seldom went now and the fear and pressure of the Blitz had receded. She had been moved to several different jobs at work over the past months, filling anti-aircraft rockets in the Nissen huts which sprung up on the bank of the canal, then assembling parts for Spitfires. Now she was back on respirators. There was still chocolate being produced – Ration Chocolate, Blended Chocolate made with powdered milk for the nation’s chocolate ration – 3 ounces a week.

  For many, the war meant separation, worry, and the daily inconvenience of shortages. Edie suffered on Janet’s behalf, knowing the awful waiting to hear from Martin, but for herself she counted these years, almost guiltily, as the happiest of her life. She felt cocooned living with the Hattons, cared for and happy with Davey. She had no husband or sweetheart to worry about and didn’t miss married life. She enjoyed the hours of companionship with Janet, Frances and Ruby and felt she was living in a happy dream, with the camaraderie of work and the cosy domesticity of home. For the last two summers the Lord Mayor had begun, through Cadbury’s, a ‘Stay at Home Holidays Scheme’ at Rowheath Garden Club and Lido. All they had to do was climb aboard the number 36 tram and walk out into the green of the Rowheath Club, where they could swim in the pool, picnic, join in folk dances and listen to the band. The football pitches had been dug up for allotments, but there was still plenty of space for people to enjoy themselves. Edie had spent many a happy weekend afternoon and summer evening at Rowheath with Davey and Marleen, taking packets of sandwiches and cake to keep them going. It had been heaven.

  ‘Come on, let’s walk on a bit,’ she called to Davey.

  ‘One more!’ He threw overarm, hurling a stone down into the water with all his strength, then trotted after her, cheeks glowing.

  ‘Whose birthday is it this week?’ she asked, taking his hand.

  ‘Mine?’ As far as he knew, his birthday was 19 November.

  ‘Yes – put your mitts on, your hands’re cold.’

  ‘And I’ll be four!’

  ‘You’re getting big.’

  ‘How big am I, ’zackly?’

  ‘Oh Davey!’ she laughed, exasperated, laying a hand on his head. ‘You’re that big – that’s how big!’

  Janet came into the hall when they got back.

  ‘Someone called to see you while you were out.’

  ‘Who?’ Edie was unbuttoning Davey’s coat.

  ‘I don’t know. She wouldn’t say.’

  Something in Janet’s tone made Edie straighten up, her pulse quickening.

  ‘Well, what did she want?’

  Janet wore a slight frown. ‘She just came to the door and said was this where Edie Weale was living. I asked if she wanted to wait and she said no, she’ll come back but she needs to see you. She wouldn’t give her name.’

  Edie felt as if her veins were full of ice water. She sank down on to the chair in the hall.

  ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘Pale face, dark hair.’ Janet shrugged. ‘Rather serious-looking.’

  ‘Oh—’ Edie’s hand went to her throat. Seeing Davey looking up at her she urged him towards the kitchen. ‘Go on, bab, go and see Frances.’

  Janet understood immediately. This was what Edie dreaded most, year after year, in an unspoken corner of her mind. That someone was out there who belonged to Davey – that one day they would find her, come to claim him as their own. She put her hand on Edie’s shoulder.

  ‘Look – it’s probably nothing important.’

  ‘Dark-haired, you said?’ The colour had drained from Edie’s face. ‘Dark, like him. Oh God, Janet, it could be his mother . . .’

  ‘Yes, Edie – but then it could be absolutely anyone. Come on – lunch is ready. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. You mustn’t fear the worst just because someone calls at the house.’

  The last thing Edie felt like was eating, but she did her best to appreciate the ration of meat that Frances had managed to get hold of for the weekend. They didn’t talk about what was on her mind, not in front of Davey, and Edie tried to concentrate on Frances’s news about their Quaker friends. All the time her mind multiplied its fears. It had to come – she had had too much happiness while other people were suffering. She had taken a child that wasn’t hers and now they were coming to take him away. How could she have thought life would carry on in this tranquil way? She heard her mother’s mocking voice in her head. ‘Nothing comes without a price, wench – and don’t you forget it.’ After the meal she washed up, her hands shaking, ears straining constantly for that knock at the door.

  She was playing on the floor with Davey, building towers and forts out of wooden blocks, when the knocker rapped abruptly, three times. Eveyone looked at one another for a second. Edie got up, legs shaking.

  ‘I’ll go.’

  She tried to see if she could make out the caller through the distorted glass light in the door, but she could only see the top of a green felt hat. Bracing herself, she pulled the door open.

  For a second she was so primed to see a stranger that she didn’t recognize her. Then she almost burst into tears of relief.

  ‘Florrie! What in heaven’s name’re you doing here? Was it you called earlier?’

  Florrie nodded. She seemed wary of the house. ‘They said you was out.’

  ‘Why didn’t you give your name? I couldn’t think who could be calling. You coming in?’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t think so.’ Florrie pulled at her coat cuffs in an agitated way. ‘Thing is, Edie, I come up last night with the kids to see our mom. And I’ve found her in a right state.’

  ‘State? What about?’

  ‘Not like that. She’s bad, Edie. There’s summat bad the matter with ’er. Course she hadn’t let on, she ain’t said nothing to you . . .?’

  ‘I’ve not been in months,’ Edie said stiffly. ‘I don’t get any sort of welcome when I do, so why bother? Rodney’s been up here, and I’ve seen our dad a couple of times . . .’

  Florrie wasn’t listening. ‘I got it out of ’er in the end. The doctor says she’s got some kind of growth inside ’er. She looks bad, Edie, thin as a rake, except her belly’s all out as if she’s nine months gone. She won’t hear about it though. Just keeps saying not to make a fuss. Only I can’t keep coming up all the way from Coventry. You’ll ’ave to go over and give her a hand.’

  Edie agreed that she’d call in, and after hearing briefly about her sister’s family, watched her skinny figure hurry off down the road. She had to get the kids on the train to Coventry. Edie caught herself letting out a tremulous sigh of relief. Although it was bad news, she knew that it wasn’t the worst, the news she truly dreaded. That could only ever be something connected with Davey.

  Twenty-Five

  Rodney let her in. As soon as she stepped into the Charlotte Road house Edie knew things had changed. No one was in the back room and it was so quiet, even for the middle of a Sunday afternoon, that she found herself whispering, ‘Where is everyone?’

  Rodney nodded towards the front room. ‘Our dad made up a fire in there today.’ ‘Why didn’t you tell me Mom was poorly?’ Rodney shrugged gracelessly. ‘’Er never said. It were only when Florrie came . . .’

  Edie had waited until she was sure Florrie would have left for Coventry before going over. She could do without her sister’s bossing. She crept to the front room. It was very warm and there was an odd, sickly smell. Her father was asleep in the chair, his braces loosened, head back and mouth ajar, breathing loudly. Something about the sight of him troubled her and it took her a moment to pin it down. He hadn’t shaved! Dennis Mar
shall, gentleman barber, had a growth of stubble on his chin! Tiptoeing round to look at her mother, Edie stifled a gasp. Nellie never, ever succumbed to sleeping in the daytime, even on Sunday. That in itself was startling enough, as was the fact they were sitting in the front room and even more, the incongrous sense of companionship which seemed to have arisen between her parents as they snoozed here together – something they never achieved when they were awake. But most shocking was her mother’s wasted appearance, her face sallow against the hard blue of her dress, the hair faded so there was barely a trace of ginger left. Her body looked shrunken suddenly, as if it had collapsed in on itself, and her wrists were stick-thin. The veins stood out on her wasted hand resting on the arm of the chair. Most disturbing of all was her prominent pot-belly, just as Florrie had described, as if Nellie was well advanced in pregnancy. For a crazed second Edie wondered if she was – was that it? – before telling herself not to be so stupid. Her mom was well past childbearing age.

  She shoved Rodney back into the other room and pushed the door shut.

  ‘How’s long’s she been like that?’

  Rodney shrugged. ‘Few weeks I s’pose. It sort of crept up, and one day ’er suddenly couldn’t never seem to get about. What’s up with ’er, Ede? She ain’t said nothing to me.’

  ‘She will if she catches you saying “ain’t” like that,’ Edie snapped. ‘Look – get the kettle on and I’ll make ’em a cup of tea. I need time to think.’

  When she carried the tea through her father stirred, gave a startled snort and stared at her blearily.

  ‘Edie? I thought Florrie was ’ere . . .?’

  She handed him a cup of tea. ‘Thought I’d call in. Florrie said our mom was poorly.’ They looked across at Nellie, who was moving her head restlessly, eyes still closed. ‘What’s up with her, Dad? Florrie said summat about a growth.’

  Dennis Marshall stirred his tea and wouldn’t meet her eyes. ‘Ar well . . . They did say summat like that . . .’Er’s a bit under the weather like, you know.’

  ‘Under the weather? Dad, she looks terrible!’

  ‘She ain’t been too well,’ he admitted. ‘But she don’t make a fuss. You know yer mother.’

  Tutting furiously, Edie went to her mother. ‘Mom?’ She found herself speaking softly, as if to a child. ‘Here’s a cuppa tea for yer. You going to wake up and have it?’

  ‘Ooh—’ Nellie’s eyes opened, struggled to focus for a second, then fixed Edie with her cold blue stare. ‘I must’ve dozed off for a minute. What’re you doing ’ere?’

  It would be no good asking any direct questions straight away, Edie saw. ‘Just thought I’d pop in. ’Ere, Rodney – your tea.’ Edie drew up a stool and sat between her parents, facing the fire.

  ‘Not brought that lad with yer then?’ David was always ‘the boy’ or ‘that lad’ now he was older. Nellie would never acknowledge him as Edie’s son.

  ‘No. We went to the park this morning and he’s having a nap at home.’ There was a silence. ‘It’s his birthday in a couple of days. He’ll be four – hard to believe, isn’t it?’

  They talked fitfully about day-to-day things, Florrie’s kids, neighbours. Edie kept watching her mother when she wasn’t looking and twice she saw her whole face twist, contorted with pain. She pressed her hand against her belly as if to ease it and her face turned even paler. It was terrible to see. But it was only after some time Edie felt she could say anything.

  ‘You’re not looking very well, Mom.’

  Her father stared into the fire. Edie was horrified to hear her mother let out a hard, bitter laugh, which ended in a gasp of pain, her hand pushing once more against her belly. ‘Ah well, fancy you noticing,’ she said spitefully. ‘It’s taken you long enough to get here.’

  Edie swallowed the retort that if she’d ever found a welcome here she would have come more often. ‘What do they say it is?’

  Nellie was easing herself forward, trying urgently to get out of her chair. Edie instinctively went to help her, but her mother’s bony hand pushed her away.

  ‘Oh stop mithering. I need to go out the back . . .’

  Walking half bent over, holding on to the wall, she felt her way towards the outside toilet.

  ‘Dad! Why didn’t you come and tell me?’ Edie demanded.

  ‘Look, wench, don’t keep on.’ He stood up, leaving his teacup on the hearth, and went out through to the back.

  ‘Why’s he being like that? She can’t help being bad, can she? What’s going on, Rodney?’

  ‘I dunno, do I?’ Rodney said mulishly. ‘’E don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake – you’re all as bad as each other!’ Edie furiously cleared away the cups. ‘It’s not just going to go away because you pretend nothing’s the matter!’

  She waited until her mother came groping her way back to her chair, clearly exhausted. Resting for a moment, leaning on the wall, she snarled, ‘That’s right, take a good look.’

  ‘Mom . . .’

  ‘Oh leave me alone . . .’ She sank back into the chair and closed her eyes.

  Edie stood hovering over her for a moment, torn between pity and anger. What was the point in ever trying to be a daughter to her? Going through to the back, she found her father sitting by the range, the newspaper in front of his face like a guard.

  ‘Dad – look, I’ve got to go. But I’ll come in and give her a hand all I can. When she’ll let me, anyhow . . .’

  ‘Awright,’ he said. ‘Good of yer, wench.’ He didn’t put the paper down.

  The next Saturday morning, Edie was preparing a tea party for David’s birthday. He had turned four two days before and Edie had been saving for months to buy him a little tricycle with red mudguards and rubber grips on the handlebars. David squeaked with astonished delight when he first saw it. She kept catching glimpses of him now, well wrapped up in his coat and balaclava, riding the trike up and down the back garden path.

  With a saving of her butter rations and powdered egg she had baked a Victoria sponge – of sorts, anyway, and managed a thin layer of jam in the middle. She trickled some glacé icing over the top and piped a pale blue ‘4’ across it. Frances had found enough birthday candles and the cake stood proudly on the kitchen table under a mesh, waiting for the children to arrive in the afternoon.

  Edie stood humming to herself, slicing bread as thinly as she could for the sandwiches. Lately she’d been listening to ‘Kitchen Front’ on the wireless and had become preoccupied with feeding her boy the very best food she could.

  ‘Dr Hill says brown bread is best,’ she’d told Frances. ‘I think I’ll try and give him more of that.’

  ‘Well, it’ll be better for all of us,’ Frances said. ‘I’ll buy half and half – how about that?’

  So she cut some neat brown sandwiches with fish paste and some white ones with jam, and they’d baked a few cheese straws. There weren’t to be very many guests – David and a handful of neighbourhood children and of course, Marleen.

  ‘Well it all looks lovely,’ Frances said when she saw the little spread. ‘You’ve done a marvellous job. We can have a bite of lunch when Janet gets back from the shops. And are you planning to call in to your mother’s before everything gets started?’

  ‘If there’s time.’ Edie sighed.

  ‘You can only do your best,’ Frances tried to reassure her.

  ‘Oh well – where’s that ever got me?’ Edie retorted, vigorously wiping the crumbs off the side. ‘Sorry, Frances. I know you’re right. Only when I go and try to help she’s so nasty and ungrateful. I mean I know I didn’t go home for a long while, but that was because she never seemed to want me when I did. I suppose I want her to need me there. I can’t imagine not wanting to see Davey if he came to see me! Sometimes I think she’s a wicked woman, I really do.’

  Frances listened, troubled by the hurt she saw in Edie’s expression, the bitterness in her voice. She’d never met Nellie Marshall and was disturbed by the harsh feelings she
brought out in Edie, who was normally so sweet-natured. She wondered again about that scar on Edie’s arm which she was always at such pains to keep hidden.

  ‘Perhaps she just doesn’t know how to say she likes you going,’ she suggested.

  ‘Huh,’ Edie wrung the cloth tight over the sink. ‘She doesn’t know how to like anything.’

  There came a sudden hard knocking at the front door and Frances hurried to answer. ‘Gracious me – sounds as if they’re trying to batter it down.’ Then Edie heard a distraught voice, and sobbing coming along the hall and Ruby’s tear-stained face appeared.

  ‘Ruby? What’s happened? Where’s Marleen?’

  Ruby sank down on a kitchen chair, still in her coat. ‘It’s not Marleen. Perce has got her. Oh Edie, it’s Frank!’

  For a split second Edie couldn’t think who Frank was. The only person Ruby talked about these days was Wally, her American. It was Wally this and Wally that all the time.

  ‘I’ve just heard and I had to tell someone. They say he was shot down and he’s missing – but that means he’s been killed, I know it does!’

  ‘But Ruby, he wasn’t flying any more.’ Edie put her arms round her old friend’s shoulders. ‘It must be a mistake.’

  ‘It’s not a mistake.’ Ruby managed to calm herself down enough to explain. ‘I had a letter from his squadron-leader. Frank volunteered to go out on a raid. He’d done it before, the man said – even when he didn’t have to. Some of the other blokes from his old crew were still going out, and he wanted to go with them. They said he was very brave and heroic to do it . . .’ She started crying again. ‘Oh, I know we didn’t have much of a marriage, but he still was my husband. He’s too young to die!’

  Ruby put her hands over her face and sobbed while Edie and Frances tried to comfort her. After a sharp weep she recovered remarkably quickly.

  ‘Imagine if I didn’t have Wally,’ she said, dabbing her face. ‘I don’t know how I’d be able to carry on.’

  They managed to persuade her to go home and get Marleen ready to bring to the party. It would give her something else to think about. By three o’clock all the little guests had arrived. Ruby was all dolled up in a beautiful emerald-green dress which shimmered over her broad hips. (‘She didn’t get that with her coupons!’ Janet whispered to Edie, who grinned back.)