by June Francis
‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ She placed slices of spam in the pan and stepped back as they sizzled. ‘We couldn’t say there was no room at the inn. Not at Christmas.’
‘I wish I didn’t have to mess you about,’ said Rosie, climbing into the other end of Dotty’s bed, clad in a pair of her aunt’s pyjamas.
‘It’s not your fault,’ said Amelia, forcing a smile. ‘I’m sorry about your grandmother. We didn’t always see eye to eye but she took you in and did her best by you.’
Rosie tucked her knees under her chin. ‘I grew fond of her over time, even though she was an old misery. Do you think some people are just born that way?’
‘I don’t know. At least she got her husband back in the end, which must have given her some satisfaction.’
Rosie thought of Vera and how it had been with Maggie and Walter at the end, but decided some things were best unsaid. She snuggled down, trying to remember just what the box Maggie had kept her jewels in had looked like, determined not to be put off by Granddad telling her it was a waste of time. Come Boxing Day she was going to be at the house looking for it and the handbag.
*
‘Can we come with you?’ The twins stood in front of Rosie, feet apart, hands clasped behind their backs, and two pairs of beguiling eyes appealing to her better nature.
She glanced at Peter. ‘What d’you think? Should I take them?’
‘You don’t need to ask,’ said Amelia promptly, spreading homemade plum jam on toast. ‘Be our guest.’
‘Great,’ murmured Rosie, pulling a face. She glanced round the table. ‘Anyone seen Granddad?’
‘He went out earlier,’ said Chris sullenly. He was not feeling too happy with life, having lost his bedroom to Walter. What annoyed him just as much, though, was the discovery that Amelia and Peter now had the double bed. ‘Just the excuse they wanted,’ he had said to Dotty on Christmas Eve.
Rosie had been passing at the time and had given him a look that had made him feel like a worm. He wished her to Timbuctoo. Dotty was different. She looked up to him and he felt all protective towards her because like his mother she had bad eyesight, and like his mother she expected him to be big and brave.
‘Did he say where he was going?’ said Rosie, looking at Chris rubbing his eyebrow.
‘Why should he tell me?’ he muttered. ‘I’m not his keeper.’
‘No,’ said Rosie dryly. ‘You could have been more welcoming, though.’ She pushed back her chair, thinking he would be a much nicer person if he got rid of the chip on his shoulder, because he wasn’t the only one who had lost a mother. He was damned lucky he still had a father.
‘He said something about going to see someone who might put him up,’ said Chris.
‘Thanks.’ Rosie bent over him. ‘See, it wasn’t so hard, was it?’ She plonked a kiss on his cheek and left the room, followed by the twins.
The sight of the charred beams, blackened walls and shattered windows of the house depressed Rosie but the twins were thrilled. ‘It’s a real ruin,’ they said, and immediately climbed over the window sill.
Rosie behaved with more decorum and went through the open doorway, picking her way over rubble in the lobby. The staircase was a wreck and she knew she would never get upstairs. In the parlour, part of the ceiling had fallen in and what was left of the furniture was filthy beyond redemption. ‘What a mess!’ she said.
‘What are we looking for?’ called the twins.
‘A large handbag. Black. And a carved wooden box – that big.’ She indicated its size with her hands. ‘It might just have fallen through the ceiling and survived.’
The three of them began to poke around and surprisingly quickly Jimmy found the handbag beneath a charred length of curtain. Rosie took it from him with hands that trembled and undid the clasp. She could scarcely believe it when she found everything inside was intact: identity card, ration books, marriage lines, purse. She opened it and inside there was money.
Rosie smiled at Jimmy. ‘Good lad!’ She gave both boys a penny apiece from the purse and told them to carry on looking for the box while she went and searched in the shop.
But there the fire had blazed its fiercest and although the scales and weights were still recognisable, there was no sign of the old cash tin. As for the book with the names of customers owing money, that had gone for ever. At least some mothers would have a happy New Year knowing their debts had been wiped away, thought Rosie.
She returned to the twins, who had had no luck. ‘Let’s go home,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful, thinking that at least there had been a fair amount of money in the purse.
As soon as Rosie saw Walter, she forgave him for going off without her and handed him the purse. ‘What’s this?’ he said, the blue eyes so like her father’s wide with surprise.
She smiled at him. ‘I found Gran’s handbag, so you don’t have to worry about finding the money for her funeral now. There should be enough in there.’
He stared at her and for several seconds seemed to have difficulty getting his words out. At last he cleared his throat. ‘I wasn’t worried, queen. I’ve been paying into a Friendly Society for years. I mean, she was me wife and I wasn’t to know she’d done all right for herself, was I?’
‘Oh!’ Rosie felt quite deflated. ‘I didn’t realise. But the money will come in useful, won’t it? I mean you – we – we’ve only the clothes we’re standing up in.’
‘Yer right there,’ he said hastily. ‘You’re going to need a whole new wardrobe, girl. And we could do with giving your aunt something for our keep.’
‘Don’t forget yourself, Granddad,’ said Rosie, smiling.
Again Walter seemed to have difficulty in controlling his emotions and noisily cleared his throat once more. ‘I – well, I don’t need as much as you at my age.’ He opened her hand and closed her fingers round the purse. ‘Maggie would have wanted you to have this. You keep it.’
‘But—’
Walter chucked her under the chin. ‘Now, no arguments, sweetheart. It’s yours. There’ll be a bit over from the insurance, no doubt, for my needs.’
Rosie was so affected by his generosity that she forgot to ask him where he had been that day. Instead she kissed his rosy cheek and then went to speak to her aunt.
‘A pound’ll do for now,’ said Amelia. ‘And you don’t have to give me any more for a couple of weeks. You’ll need to buy yourself a few things. How did your granddad get on with looking for new digs, by the way?’
The pleasure Rosie felt in finding the money faded. She did not doubt that if he could, Walter would settle for any old hovel so that he was not beholden to anyone. ‘I forgot to ask him. I’ll go and see.’ She hurried out of the kitchen into the sitting room where he was playing dominoes with the twins.
She put her question to him, aware he was avoiding looking at her, supposedly concentrating on the game. He sucked at a licorice torpedo furiously, not having smoked a pipe since the fire. She knew then it was just as she’d thought.
‘Yer wouldn’t like it, queen, so I’m not telling you. It looks promising but yer can’t come with me. There’s no room.’
‘Couldn’t we find somewhere else where we can be together?’ asked Rosie, kneeling on the rug in front of him, elbow on his knee. ‘I want us to be together, Granddad. I don’t like the thought of you being on your own.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ He touched the smooth curve of her cheek. ‘Yer growing into a fine young lady. You’ve got to think of yerself and Davey. He’ll be wanting to marry yer, no doubt, when he comes home. So yer not to worry about me.’
‘But I do worry about you,’ she said, touched. ‘You’re the only grandfather I’ve got.’
Walter was visibly moved and cleared his throat, almost choking on a sliver of licorice. Rosie got up and thumped him between the shoulder-blades. ‘Enough, enough,’ he gasped. ‘I’ll come and visit yer, don’t you worry.’
‘Promise?’ she said firmly. ‘Promise you won’t disappear from m
y life again?’
‘I promise,’ he gasped.
With that she had to be satisfied.
Her granddad had filled her mind with thoughts of marriage again and so she went in search of Peter, whom she found in the parlour with a writing pad on his knee. ‘What can I do for you, Rosie?’ He gave her a smile that warmed her and she thought, not for the first time, how like him the twins were. Chris must take after his mother.
Rosie sat on the piano stool and told Peter about the money. ‘Could you open a savings account for me in the Post Office? I want to put ten pounds in.’
‘I think you’re being very sensible.’ He took the money from her and placed it in the pocket of the jacket he was wearing because it was cold in the parlour. ‘Saving for anything in particular?’
‘Marriage,’ she said, firmly. ‘When Davey comes home I’ll be eighteen. We’ll want to get married as soon as we can then.’
He put down his fountain pen. ‘Have you spoken to your aunt about this?’
‘Not yet.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘But I thought she’d be glad to be rid of me. She has enough to do with the boys and Dotty, and if she was to have a ba—’ She stopped and took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, I want to be with Davey, and if our Harry and Babs stay with Aunt Iris, I don’t see anything to stop us getting married.’
He stared at her thoughtfully. ‘Your aunt mightn’t be too pleased about you getting married so young. Won’t you be starting college in September? She really wants you to get your diploma.’
Rosie’s brows drew together and her teeth worried her lower lip. ‘I want to get it, too . . . but I want to be with Davey as well. I’ve really missed him.’
Peter smiled. ‘If I were you, Rosie, I wouldn’t mention this to your aunt yet,’ he said gently. ‘Besides her having enough on her plate at the moment, you might find that when Davey comes home the pair of you have changed. Give things time.’
Nothing will have changed between us, she thought, but did not say that to Peter.
On New Year’s Eve, Maggie was buried as she had requested in the same grave as her son Joe. It was a much more elaborate funeral than Rosie had expected with a fancy carriage and black horses with plumes to draw it. Even so, it was a relief when it was all over and life could get back to normal.
But in the early months of 1947, nothing felt normal. Snow and hard frost held the country in an iron grip, numbing noses and toes and fingers, even indoors. There were continuing coal shortages which led to ever-growing queues for fuel and to power cuts. Even potatoes were in short supply, which made feeding the family even more difficult for Amelia.
Rosie worried about her granddad when he did not visit, especially as day after day people came into the chemist’s for bottles of this cough mixture or that linctus, for tonics or chilblain ointment. Some brought with them news of elderly neighbours or parents dying of pneumonia or bronchitis. Of Mr Rossiter she saw no sign, only his son Eddie, who flirted with Irene, and whom she tried to ignore.
It was after one of their eldest customers died that Rosie decided to find out where her granddad was and to visit him. It was not going to be easy because he had not given her any clue as to where he would be staying. It was while she thought about his reluctance to give her his address that it struck Rosie just how strange that was. She worried about it, telling herself that if he was ill he would have sent a message to her. The more she thought, the more uneasy and suspicious she became. Until one cold bleak February Sunday she caught a tram which would take her along Westminster Road. She was half hoping she was wrong and would soon be home again.
*
‘Rosie still not in?’ Peter glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf, the hands of which stood at five past nine as he entered the sitting room.
‘She might have gone to the pictures,’ said Amelia, looking up from her darning and smiling at him.
‘It’s not like her not to say where she’s going,’ he said, turning down the wireless. ‘She should be in by now.’ He stood in front of the fire, gazing down at Amelia. ‘Who would she go to the pictures with? She doesn’t know any other lads but Davey, does she?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Then who’s she out with?’ His frown deepened. ‘She’s our responsibility, Lee. What if there was a power cut and something happened to her out there in the dark?’
‘It’s no worse than during the Blitz and we all coped then.’ This concern he had for her nieces was nothing new and she knew she should be glad because it meant he was trying to fill a space in their lives, but Rosie was growing more and more like Violet and the likeness was unnerving in some ways, reminding her of the past and the trouble her sister had caused then. She knew it was stupid thinking like this but at least it took her mind off Chris and Tess and Bernard. Although Rosie had told her her former fiancé had not been in the shop for weeks. Perhaps he had taken over another area? The thought made her feel a lot better. She put down her darning. ‘I’ll get my things and go and walk to the tram stop. She could be coming now.’
‘No!’ Peter bent and kissed her. ‘I’d be no happier with you out there on your own. The fog’s coming down.’ He walked out of the room and a few moments later Amelia heard the front door open and close.
A cinder fell in the grate and the coals in the miserable little fire shifted. The room became quiet again. Amelia sat, hands still in her lap, wondering where Rosie could be. The twins were in bed and Dotty had gone up, too. The girl had now finished at St Vincent’s and although she had the opportunity of helping out there or in their workshop, Amelia was considering allowing her to work in her own shop. Irene was a caring girl and would watch over her and she would be a help when Rosie started college. Where Chris was she had no idea, thinking it best not to enquire too closely into his whereabouts during the evenings.
Suddenly, Amelia became aware that someone was tinkling on the piano. Getting up, she left the room. She pushed open the parlour door but the room was in darkness and, reaching for the switch, she flooded it with light.
On the piano stool sat Dotty and Chris, looking slightly dishevelled. ‘What are the pair of you doing here in the dark?’ said Amelia in astonishment.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Chris, with an insolent curl to his mouth, said, ‘Playing the piano.’
‘Very funny,’ she said, annoyed. ‘But it’s not a good enough answer.’ She jerked her thumb. ‘Out!’
They both rose and Dotty hurried into the hall ahead of him. Amelia said, ‘Dotty, you can go straight to bed. Chris, I want a word with you.’
The girl whirled around. ‘We haven’t done anything wrong! Honestly, Aunt Amelia.’
‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you?’ said her aunt quietly. ‘Now upstairs and no nonsense out of you.’
‘Don’t you bully her!’ said Chris loudly, moving swiftly to stand in front of Dotty.
‘Don’t be silly, Chris,’ said Amelia wearily. And seizing his shoulder, she made to move him.
He stood rock-firm, glaring at her. ‘You think you can have your own way all the time. Well, you’re not our mother!’
‘Don’t, Chris,’ whispered Dotty, pulling on his sleeve. ‘She’ll tell your dad.’
‘You can take that as a promise,’ said Amelia, exacerbated. ‘Dotty, go to bed!’
The girl’s eyes met hers briefly, then she turned and fled upstairs.
‘I could do without this,’ said Amelia, folding her arms and trying to hold on to her temper.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Chris sullenly, resting one elbow on the newel post.
‘Oh, yes you do. So don’t waste time trying to persuade me butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth. I’m not going to have any shenanigans under my roof. You keep your distance from Dotty, or else.’
‘Or else you’ll tell your husband and he’ll have my hide?’
‘Exactly! And you’ll deserve it if you’ve done anything to that girl.’
His face flooded with
crimson. ‘I wouldn’t! It’s just your dirty mind, you – you tart!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Amelia stared at him in amazement.
‘You wormed your way into his favour,’ said Chris in a virulent voice, face twisted with hatred. ‘And now he has no time for me!’
‘That’s not true.’ Amelia unfolded her arms and clenched her fists.
‘Oh, yes it is!’ he shouted. ‘You don’t want me around here, I can tell.’
‘I definitely don’t want you around when you’re rude and ungrateful. It’s time you appreciated the home you’ve got,’ she said, pushing him back against the stairs.
He managed to catch his balance and thrust out his hand, catching her in the chest. ‘Home? This isn’t my home,’ he said in a choking voice. ‘Home was where Mam was. I’ve had enough! I’m getting out.’ He turned and raced upstairs, taking them two at a time.
Amelia lost her temper then and was about to fly after him when the front door opened and Rosie entered with Peter.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ he said. ‘I could hear your voices outside.’
Amelia whirled to face him. ‘Chris has just called me a tart! And besides that I found him alone in the dark with Dotty in the parlour.’
Peter’s eyes glinted. ‘Where is he?’
She jerked her head in the direction of the stairs and he ran up them.
Amelia turned to Rosie. ‘And where the hell have you been?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it. And I’m going to marry Davey whatever you say, so there!’ snapped the girl. She too thudded up the stairs so that the whole house vibrated with the noise.
Amelia was so dumfounded that for a moment she did not know what to do. Then she ran upstairs and into her bedroom. She sat down on the bed and stared at the wall. Kids! She’d had them up to here. She was fed up. She had had enough. She wanted out. She wanted a peaceful life again when she did not have to worry about feeding them, about keeping the peace, about what they were up to or whether Peter was going to find out about Bernard and all that might lead to.
She jumped to her feet and flung open the wardrobe, beginning to drag things out and toss them on to the bed. Then she stopped, aware of raised voices and crying. She sank on to the bed, putting her hands over her ears.