by Annie Murray
‘Thank you, Mrs Poulter,’ Rachel said.
‘Nice to see you, bab. Ta-ra-abit. See you again.’
‘Come on,’ Lilian urged her, her cheek bulging with cough candy. ‘We got to find Mom. Who was that?’ She sounded resentful.
‘Just someone,’ Rachel said. Her mouth was too crammed full for any explanations, and she did not feel like giving them anyway. This was hers. Suddenly it mattered more than anything – more, even, than Lilian. She kept turning back as they jostled their way across to Mrs Davies. She saw Danny bending down, sorting through his pile of clothes. See you again, Mrs Poulter had said. This warmed Rachel, made her feel she had a friend. She’d be back to see them. To see Danny. And one day, maybe eventually he’d look at her and speak to her.
Nine
It took a long time before Rachel managed to get more than the barest nod or half-smile out of Danny. That voice he had had on him before he was sent away still rang out when it came to hawking his wares, but he seemed to have forgotten how to talk face to face with anyone.
Rachel’s happiest times were going to the market with Lilian and her mother. At home, she felt alone. The fact that Sidney Horton was now very deliberately ignoring her was the greatest blessing. He came in and out and moved around her as if she was a shadow. And he seemed to be courting some girl though he was very secretive about it. But she could never feel at ease when he was in the house. She loathed him. If he came near her the hairs on her body stood on end and she could not relax when he was around. What if he started on her again?
She could never have said she was not cared for, not in the basic things of life. Fred and her mother made sure she was fed and clothed, and Peggy was always happy to give her a few pennies to go out with the Davies family. But now that her mother was with Fred Horton and taken up with him and his business, she had almost no time to spare for her daughter and barely more than a passing interest in her.
‘I’ve got a proper life now,’ she said occasionally. She had the safety and comfort she deserved after all the impoverished suffering and striving of her years as a widow. And nothing and no one, she seemed to imply, was going to get in the way of it.
Through the winter Rachel went to the market almost every Saturday with the Davieses. She would slope over to Gladys Poulter as soon as she could and Danny was always there too, looking busy and remote. There was never much time so she could not stay and she started to resent going with Lilian and her mother. She felt disloyal for feeling that, but the pull of Danny was so strong. There came a day when Mrs Davies and Lilian were not going to town, but Rachel told Peggy they were. The lie sat in her throat like a toad but she made it jump out just the same and received sixpence from Peggy. She knew what to do now. She was not afraid of going into Birmingham by herself.
Before going to the bus stop, on a February afternoon from which the fog had barely lifted, she went into a newsagent’s on the Coventry Road. She spent two of the precious pennies on a present for Danny, which she tucked inside her coat to keep it dry. She did not question whether he would like what she had bought. Somehow she knew he would, even though he looked so grown up and distant. He had to like it!
Soon she was jumping down from the trolleybus and hurrying across the Bullring. As she walked into the Rag Market a surge of happiness filled her. She was here! And, much as she liked Lilian and her mom, she didn’t have to trail around with them – she could go just where she liked.
Before many seconds had passed, she made out Danny’s voice: ‘Gents’ clothing – all good quality – nothing over ten bob! Come and have a look – don’t be shy!’
Her heart picked up speed. Something about Danny’s belting voice had always thrilled her, since the first time she heard it. She stood in the crowd, watching from a distance. Gladys was at one side, with the women’s clothing and bedding. She had made room for Danny to trade at the other end. He seemed to be standing on something; he looked so tall, a black jacket hanging from his thin shoulders, his eyes alight and intent.
‘Come on now – come and have a look! Best gents’ suits – don’t miss a bargain!’
He might not be very talkative, she thought, but he can certainly still holler! The other times she had been all she had managed to get out of him was a grudging ‘All right?’ or ‘’Ullo.’
‘Come on, our Danny,’ Gladys would tease. ‘Spit a few more words out – we won’t charge yer.’ But Rachel saw that when she said things like that, her eyes were sad and she wondered why. No one had told her where Danny had been all this time and she was afraid to ask. It was as if Gladys Poulter felt ashamed, or just could not bear to talk about it.
And Danny would half-smile and turn away with the air of a very busy man. The more she saw of Danny, the more determined she was to get him to talk to her. It was not just nosiness – her heart seemed to be hooked onto him somehow.
Rachel walked towards them, her heart thudding. She made a great show of looking at some of the women’s clothes, a pile of bloomers in varying colours, a coat in dark red wool, a blouse with a lace-trimmed collar. She was just behind Danny who, she saw, was standing on a wooden box. His thin body was full of urgency.
‘Oh – you’re back again!’ Gladys Poulter turned to her when she had finished dealing with her customer. ‘You don’t give up easy, do yer?’ she laughed. Rachel blushed. She had not realized that it was so obvious she came to the stall to see Danny. ‘Eh, Danny!’ she called. ‘Your little friend’s here again!’
In that second Rachel made a decision. If Danny turned now and saw her just standing there she would feel silly, the way being a girl was somehow silly if all she did was to wait there with her face glowing red, as if it was all up to him to come and see her or not. So she leapt into action and strode towards him.
‘Hello!’ she offered, planting her feet side by side.
Danny stepped down off the box. Rachel saw a pink flush spread across his cheeks as well and it changed everything. Maybe Danny wasn’t so tough after all.
‘’Ullo,’ he said, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets. He seemed to droop suddenly, unsure of himself. She got the feeling that he was holding something in his pocket, as if for comfort.
‘I brought you something,’ Rachel said.
Danny looked suspicious, his brows pulling into a frown. Now that his face was thinner, she saw that he had prominent cheekbones and a strong jawline. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘It’s nothing much –’ She tried to sound casual. ‘I thought you’d like it.’ From inside her coat she brought the folded comic she had bought. It was a new one that had only started coming out a few months ago. She felt afraid then. Would Danny think he was too old for comics? ‘Here –’
Danny took it. He seemed wary, but then another expression came into his large eyes – a wondering interest. ‘The Beano.’ He stared at it, then opened it up. A chuckle made its way out of him. ‘It’s good, that is. Funny.’
Rachel beamed. ‘Tin Can Tommy,’ she said.
‘Ping the Elastic . . .’ Danny gave a sudden cough of laughter. ‘Comics are the best.’
‘What you got there, Danny?’ Gladys asked.
‘The Beano,’ he grinned, then his face sobered again, unsure. ‘This ain’t for me?’
Rachel was so happy at the sight of his smiling face – she had made him smile! – that she was grinning all over. ‘It is.’ She shrugged. ‘Yes. For you.’
‘Well, that’s nice, Danny.’ Gladys laughed. ‘There was a time she had to come and buy them off you! Tell you what – have a break, lad.’ She fumbled in her pocket. ‘Go and get yourself and this young lady some chestnuts – and bring me some back while yer at it.’
Danny looked uncertain, but Rachel said, ‘Ooh, thank you, Mrs Poulter, can we?’
Danny fished around at the back of the pile of sale clothes for his cap and put it on at a jaunty angle. As they turned to walk towards the man with the barrow selling chestnuts she heard Gladys Poulter say, ‘Cheeky little minx
.’
They bought three twists of paper full of hot, delicious-smelling chestnuts and hurried back to give Gladys hers. ‘Right, you two,’ she said, taking them. ‘Get lost for a bit.’
They walked out of the market. The street was full of carts, some parked by the kerb, their horses munching out of nosebags, the warm animal smells steaming out into the cold. Others were cramming in and out of Jamaica Row and crowds of people were weaving in between them and jostling along the mucky pavements. Rachel and Danny, without consulting each other, moved out away from Rag Alley and the main market bustle, along towards the bottom of Bradford Street. The slaughterhouse was near the bottom of the hill, close to the meat markets. The air was rank with the stenches of blood and fat and offal, and the bawling of animals carried out into the street. Rachel felt her stomach turn. It was horrible to hear.
‘Not here.’ Danny nodded that they should go further. They turned into a side street, stopping by the wall of a factory. Other metallic screeching sounds replaced the agonies of beasts. The smell of the chestnuts crept out into the chill, smoky air. Danny shelled one and ate it eagerly.
‘Nice,’ he said through a mouthful.
Rachel was encouraged by this sudden outburst of communication. She was enjoying the sweet taste of her chestnuts as well, but she was more eager to talk than eat.
‘That your auntie then?’ she said, although she knew perfectly well that Gladys was his mother’s sister.
‘Yep,’ Danny nodded, digging into another chestnut.
Where have you been? she wanted to ask. Where did you go all this time? She watched him while his head was down. There was a light sprinkle of freckles across his nose. Feeling her gaze on him, Danny raised his head and looked hard into her eyes. Rachel did not look away, though she was intimidated by his gaze. The blood rose in her cheeks. Danny did not smile. He stared as if he was looking for something.
‘Why’d you bring me a comic?’ he asked eventually. His voice sounded wary again, almost hostile.
Rachel’s pulse thudded. It felt as if he might run away if she gave the wrong answer. Looking into his eyes, she said, ‘When you went away – before – it was never the same. I just thought you’d like it.’ A truck came past at the end of the street, labouring up the hill, sending out clouds of black fumes. When its noise had passed far enough away, she asked quietly, ‘Where did you go? Did you run away?’
‘No!’ Danny replied sharply, as if startled by the question. He shifted so that he was leaning his back against the wall. He bent his right leg and rested his foot on the sooty bricks. His oversized jacket hung limply on his thin body. Once more he fingered something in his right-hand pocket. ‘Run away? No.’ Looking beyond her, back along the street, he said in a flat voice, ‘He put me in the home. My old man. After our mom passed on. Me and my sisters – only they were put somewhere else. I dunno where they are. Auntie’s trying to find out.’ He looked her in the eye then. ‘I’ve got three sisters – somewhere. Jess, Rose and Amy.’
‘The home?’ Rachel said, not quite understanding.
‘Orphanage.’ Danny lowered his head as if washed in shame. ‘You know, for kids. It was a long way from here, over the other side of town. Our mom passed on to the angels – she were an angel, our mom . . .’ Rachel felt a lump rise in her throat. ‘And our dad dain’t want us so he got rid of us, once she’d gone.’
He said all this in a flat tone, almost as if it was about someone else. It was Rachel who had tears in her eyes.
‘Sent you away? How could he send you away?’ She thought of her own mother. Whatever else, Mom had never done that.
Danny shrugged. He looked at her, then again more closely, frowning. ‘You blarting?’
‘No.’ She looked down. A tear slipped from her cheek and onto the ground.
‘You are,’ Danny insisted. ‘Why’re you blarting?’
‘Because it’s sad.’ She looked up at him, wet-eyed. ‘That your mom passed away and then . . .’
He stared at her again. ‘Is that sad?’
‘Yes – course it is.’
To her astonishment, Danny smiled suddenly, a twisted sort of half-smile, but the most wholehearted she had ever seen on him. ‘You’re nice, you are.’
‘D’you want to be friends?’ she asked eagerly. She felt bonded to him somehow, in a way she could not explain, but it was a bond which reached across between his loneliness and hers.
He pushed himself off the wall and began to turn away. ‘Yeah – all right,’ he said, almost dismissive now. ‘If you like.’
She looked at his strong back as he turned down Bradford Street again, its posture bristling with toughness and bravado. Such a lad. So strange to her. But friends – he said so, and a warm feeling moved through her chest.
Ten
January 1939
‘Mrs Poulter?’ Rachel stood before Danny’s aunt with pleading eyes. ‘Can I come and help you, proper like, on Saturdays?’
Rachel had come hurrying into town on this grey, freezing Saturday from which the fog had still not lifted. The fumes from the traffic and everyone’s breath steamed out into the air. Gladys was still only just setting up. There was, for the moment, no sign of Danny. Gladys was stooping over a tottering pile of white bed linen, coughing. It was a freezing day and she had a black woollen shawl wrapped round her, over her black skirt and boots. Her hands were covered by black, fingerless gloves. Rachel wondered if Gladys ever wore pretty dresses. Gladys straightened up, wincing, one hand pressed to her back.
‘I could do that, see, to save you bending!’ Rachel offered eagerly.
Gladys stood, considering for a moment. ‘You seem to be ’ere all the time any road, bab.’ She paused. ‘I can’t pay you, or not much . . .’
‘No – I don’t want pay!’ Rachel said. The thought had never crossed her mind. Peggy always gave her more than enough for her fare. She was not after money. She wanted . . . What did she want? To be part of it all, officially – the market. To enjoy Gladys’s welcome. To have something to do and to get out of the house. And Danny – she wanted to be near Danny.
‘I can go and pick up your carriage for you,’ Rachel offered eagerly. ‘I used to do it for Mom – I know what to do. And I can help – whatever you like. Now Danny’s not here.’
Danny had a proper job now, as a porter over on the fish market. He seemed to enjoy the raucous, bantering atmosphere with other lads and the hard, physical work of pushing around catches of fresh and saltwater fish to be displayed in their gleaming beds of ice. The fish market was not far away and he often popped across during his break.
Gladys folded her arms and put her head on one side. Rachel quailed under her gaze. She still found Gladys Poulter intimidating. She was so strange and interesting-looking with her dark hair and piercing blue eyes. ‘Well,’ she brought out eventually. ‘Another pair of hands never does any harm. Ain’t you going to work soon? When d’you leave school?’
‘Not ’til the summer,’ Rachel said. ‘My birthday’s August.’
Gladys digested this. ‘What about your mother?’
‘She thinks it’s a good idea,’ Rachel fibbed.
‘Well.’ Gladys released her arms again, obviously intending to get back to work. ‘I don’t see why not if you want to. You need to get ’ere before midday, once they’ve cleared up.’
‘Oh, thank you, Mrs Poulter!’ Rachel said, overjoyed. The market felt like the best home she had now and it wasn’t a very big fib about her mother. Peggy didn’t seem to care what she did either way.
One day, just after school began again after the Christmas holidays, Rachel had come home to find her mother, once again, seated at her sewing machine. But instead of turning the handle in her usual relentless way, Peggy had her head in her hands.
‘Mom?’ Rachel stopped, worried, at the door.
‘Oh – you’re back,’ Peggy said, trying to make her voice normal, but it was still full of tears. She wiped her face on a scrap of pink cotton and stood up. �
��I didn’t hear you come in.’
She obviously did not want Rachel to know she had been crying and Rachel did not like to ask. But Peggy cried so seldom that the thought of it sat like a tense wire of dread inside her. By the time they all sat down to eat in the evening she looked calm and normal again. Things in the household had moved on. Sidney was courting seriously now and was hardly ever there, to Rachel’s relief. She had grown more used to Fred Horton. He was not a nasty man and he loved her mother. He just spent his whole life thinking about his business and very little else. That evening Peggy sat facing the two of them calmly; they talked about the day and it was as if nothing had happened.
But within a couple of days, for the first time, she overheard a frightening outburst between the two of them. It was after she had gone to bed but their voices carried through the house. She crept along the corridor to their bedroom and stood listening, one hand pressed to the cold wall. Her mother was crying and sounded distraught. She could catch scraps of their argument.
‘How can you have been so careless?’ Fred’s voice came furiously to her ears. ‘After all, you’re the one who—’
‘Careless!’ Peggy wailed. ‘What have I done that’s careless? It’s you who . . .’ The rest of the words were muffled and Rachel could not make them out.
Within days of this, one afternoon when Rachel returned from school, she found her mother waiting for her, looking pale and strained. Sitting sideways on her sewing chair, she put her hand groggily to her forehead.
‘I don’t feel very well, as you may have noticed,’ she began.
Rachel began to think she understood. Mom was ill. She must have done something to make herself ill. She looked down at her mother’s slender, crossed ankles, her feet in stylish black shoes.
‘The thing is – you’ll have to know sooner or later.’ Peggy swallowed with a wince, as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. Tears began to run from her eyes. ‘Oh – it’s no good. It’s not something I can hide for ever. I am with child.’