A Place To Call Home

by June Francis

  ‘Do I know you?’ she asked, looking down her dainty nose at him.

  His smile hovered uncertainly. ‘Don’t mess about, Greta! It’s me, Alex!’

  ‘Alex! Do I know an Alex?’ His jaw dropped, then she smiled and seized his arm. ‘Of course I do! Come on in! Welcome home!’

  ‘You little tease,’ he said, grinning as his fingers caught hold of hers and squeezed them tightly. ‘I never thought I’d get here on time! It’s taken me all day.’

  ‘Poor you. I bet you’re hungry!’ She drew him indoors.

  ‘Starving! And bloo-blinking cold.’

  ‘Then come and get a warm by the fire and some soup.’

  ‘Perfect,’ he said, allowing himself to be dragged up the lobby.

  ‘Hello, lad!’ said Harry, smiling as he advanced on Alex, hand outstretched. ‘You’re back at last! It’s been a long time.’

  ‘Over five months this time. I never thought I’d be away that long,’ said Alex, obviously relieved by Harry’s welcome. They shook hands heartily. ‘I’ve been all over the place. India! I never thought I’d get to see India, but it’s great to be back. Are you sure you want me here? I don’t want to intrude, Mr Peters.’

  ‘We’re happy to have him here, aren’t we, Mrs Hardcastle?’ said Harry, looking in Cissie’s direction.

  ‘Of course we are! The more the merrier,’ said Cissie, heaving herself up out of her chair. ‘Help him off with that bleedin’ big weight on his back, Harry! It’s a wonder the lad’s not on his knees.’

  Harry did as ordered. Then while Cissie fussed over Alex, and Harry asked him what he had been doing in India, Greta ladled soup, thick with barley and vegetables, into a bowl and cut several slices of crusty bread.

  She called him over to the table. Alex sat down, but before he picked up his spoon, he stared about the decorated, homely room with its shabby furniture. Then his gaze came to rest on the three people watching him, smiles on their faces. ‘Thanks!’ he said, his eyes bright and sparkly. ‘I’ve got a feeling this is going to be my best Christmas ever!’

  It was still gloomy in her room when Greta woke and, for a while, she lay remembering other Christmas mornings full of excitement. At fourteen and a bit, she did not expect to find a stocking filled with goodies at the bottom of her bed but, to her delight, when she pulled back the curtains to let in the wintery light, she noticed a bulging stocking on the floor.

  She snatched it up, her heart racing. For a moment she stood, struggling with her emotions, wanting to howl for her lost brother and sister, then she swallowed and took several deep breaths. There! She had herself under control, and brushed back a strand of dark hair with the back of her hand and wiped her damp eyes.

  She sat on the bed and began to remove the contents from the sock. A pair of lisle stockings, where had her father got them from? Hopefully from Miss Birkett! She was not going to think of the widow today. A tiny bottle of Californian Poppy. She took out the little rubber stopper and sniffed the perfume with her eyes closed, thought of a flower decked meadow, then opened them again and placed it next to the stockings. Next out came a kaleidoscope! She loved it. Had been hopping mad when Amy had broken the one she had been given when she was eight. Her father must have remembered. She put it to her eye and turned the rim, watching the coloured shapes form a pattern and then dissolve before forming another pattern. She sighed with pleasure and then put it aside next to the other things on the bedcover before dragging out a small writing pad and pencil. After that there remained just a bar of Cadbury’s milk chocolate, an apple, and several hazelnuts, walnuts and a silver three penny bit.

  It was a good start to the day.

  She went downstairs and found that Harry was there before her and had somehow managed to pull back the curtains and light the fire without disturbing Alex, asleep on the kitchen sofa. Cissie had decided after such a long cold journey that the young man would be better off in the warmth of the kitchen than in the parlour where the Christmas tree had been set up. Later, part of the kitchen fire would be shovelled up and hurriedly carried into the grate in the front room where those not involved in preparing the Christmas meal would sit out of the way of the workers.

  She went over to Harry and whispered, ‘Thanks, Dad!’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

  He did not speak but his arm went round her, hugging her against him, and he rested his cheek against her hair a moment. Then he released her and she hurried out of the house and down the yard to the lavatory. When she returned, her father was in the back kitchen, having a shave. She washed her hands and face in the sink and then made the porridge.

  She went over to the sofa. Alex’s trousers hung over its arm near his stocking feet. His shoulders and his bare upper arms were out of the blanket and she noticed that they were more muscular than last time. His skin was also more tanned than she had realised last night, showing dark against the white of his vest. She inspected his face, thinking that the length of his eyelashes made her envious. Suddenly his mouth, which had been relaxed, tightened and he jerked up. His nose bumped into hers.

  ‘Ouch!’ she cried, pulling her head back and rubbing her nose.

  He felt his nose, blinking at her, bleary-eyed. ‘It’s you, Greta!’

  ‘Who did you think it was?’ she asked, feeling a pang of unexpected jealousy.

  ‘The mate! I was dreaming I was at sea and they’d given the order to abandon ship, that we’d been torpedoed. Instead, I’m here!’ Such relief showed on his face that it made her realise the dangers of war were more real to him than to her, and she experienced a quiver of fear for him. Even so she smiled, relieved that he hadn’t expected to see another girl.

  ‘You’re here and safe. It’s Christmas morning and you’re going to have to move yourself because it’s later than I thought and I’ll have to wake Gran so we can get breakfast over and then get started on the Christmas dinner.’

  ‘Right!’ he said, and yawned, stretching his arms. ‘If you get out of the room then I’ll get up.’

  She left him and went upstairs to wake her gran.

  They breakfasted to the sound of carols on the wireless. As soon as the meal was over, Cissie suggested that Harry get a fire going in the parlour and then he and Alex might like to go for a walk to work up an appetite for dinner. When they returned, the chicken was done almost to perfection; it was not easy judging the temperature of the oven in the black leaded range, but Harry and Alex fell on the food as if it was a feast set for the King and Queen and said all the right things.

  Afterwards they listened to the King’s Christmas message, and then, full of food, they moved to the parlour where the fragrant smell of pine overcame the faint smell of gas, and the glow of the fire caused the tinsel on the Christmas tree to glitter.

  ‘I’ve got presents for you,’ said Alex, looking slightly awkward, as he reached for the rucksack in the corner over by the sideboard, ‘I wasn’t sure when to give them out.’

  ‘You’ve picked the right time, lad,’ said Cissie, opening the sideboard cupboard and taking out several tissue wrapped parcels.

  ‘Mine are upstairs,’ said Greta with a smile, and left the room.

  Harry pulled out one of the armchairs and, from behind it, lifted a small cardboard box. ‘One of these I kept back for an extra surprise for Greta. She’s been through a lot but never a moan out of her.’

  When Greta entered the room with her presents it was to find the other three seated in front of the fire, waiting for her. ‘Eldest first!’ said Harry, smiling at his mother-in-law.

  ‘Right,’ said Cissie, with a giggle, and handed out her three packages.

  ‘You bought me a present!’ said Alex, taken aback. ‘I didn’t expect anything, Mrs Hardcastle.’

  ‘It gave me pleasure buying it, lad. Me and Greta picked it together.’ There was a flush on her cheeks. ‘I tell yer now it’s second-hand.’

  Greta looked at Alex and could tell that it not being new did not matter. It truly was the though
t that counted with him. She watched as he unwrapped the parcel. Would her choice match his taste? The paper fell apart to reveal a book, The Time Machine by H.G. Wells. His face lit up and she relaxed. ‘I thought you’d like science fiction,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘I’ll have to sign on a new ship but I’m sure there’ll be other blokes I’ll get to know, who’ll want to read this after me.’ His gaze shifted from Greta’s face to Cissie. ‘Thanks very much, Mrs Hardcastle.’ And he kissed her plump cheek.

  ‘Gerraway with yer!’ Her tone was gruff but she patted his shoulder. ‘Now you, Greta,’ she said. ‘Open yours!’

  Greta thought she could guess from its shape what her present was but when she opened it, there were two presents. One was a box of chocolates, the other was a lipstick. ‘Gran! How could you afford these both? Oh, you are a luv!’ She got up and rained kisses on Cissie’s face. Then she went over to the sideboard mirror and outlined her lips, before whirling round and facing Harry. ‘You don’t mind me wearing lipstick, do you, Dad? I won’t wear it a lot. But to have my very own lipstick! A Max Factor one, too!’ Her eyes shone. ‘It makes me feel really grown up.’

  ‘You’re not, though, luv,’ warned Harry. ‘But I guess lipsticks are a commodity that’ll probably be in short supply soon, so you’re best making it last.’ He hesitated. ‘You mightn’t have noticed that your gran’s cut down on the ciggies … but I have.’

  ‘We all have to make sacrifices,’ said Cissie with a shrug. ‘There’s a war on. Now open your present and shut yer gob.’

  ‘You’re incorrigible, Gran,’ said Greta, her expression warm.

  ‘I won’t ask what that means,’ said Cissie with a little giggle, and placing her hands on her thighs. ‘Let’s just get on with opening the pressies.’

  They did just that. Harry’s present from Cissie was a pair of gloves. His extra present to Greta was Sally’s brooch which he had redeemed from the pawnbroker. ‘I remember this, Dad!’ Her eyes shone with tears, and even as she was speaking she was trying to open the catch to put it on but was all fingers and thumbs.

  ‘Here, let me do it,’ said Harry.

  As he fastened it to her dress, she whispered, ‘How could you afford to redeem it, Dad?’

  ‘I’ve built a lot of shelters, luv. We’ve been making some big enough to take whole schools. There’s quite a lot of mothers who couldn’t bear to be parted from their children. I think your mam would have been the same if she’d lived,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I still miss her, you know!’

  Greta wanted to ask, Then why are you taking that widow out? but couldn’t. Instead she asked brightly, ‘Does that mean if the Luftwaffe come then I won’t have to go away? Will there be enough shelters for all?’ she asked.

  ‘Let’s hope so, luv. Although … ’ He fell silent and moved away to watch Alex as he unwrapped his present. It was a shaving kit. The man’s eyes were quizzical. ‘Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking, lad? That you haven’t got much in the way of whiskers right now? But I tell you shaving gear might be in short supply, just when you’re ready for it.’

  Alex nodded. A muscle moved in his throat and when he spoke, his voice was husky. ‘I appreciate that, Mr Peters, and thanks! I didn’t expect anything. You’ve been so kind to me I can’t get over it.’

  Harry grinned. ‘Well, let’s be having your presents then and maybe you’ll feel better.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure what to buy,’ said Alex, handing out his parcels. A small one for Greta, a larger, softer-looking present for Cissie, and a square, medium sized one for Harry.

  Greta tore at the wrapping to reveal several thin metallic bangles and was delighted with the gift. ‘Lovely! Two lots of jewellery!’ She slipped the bangles on her arm and waved so that they jingled musically. ‘Thanks, Alex!’ She wanted to give him a thank you kiss, but felt shy and was unsure whether he would feel embarrassed. ‘Now open yours from me.’

  She watched him intently. It was another book and perhaps he might not have wanted two books, but she had thought with him being at sea he would need lots of books to fill in the hours when he wasn’t on duty.

  ‘Tarzan of the Apes!’ read Alex, and laughed.

  ‘You think Tarzan is funny?’ she said, her face falling.

  ‘No! I just feel so pleased I want to laugh,’ he assured her hastily. ‘I can’t wait to read it. Thanks!’

  Cissie was unwrapping the length of scarlet and gold material that Alex had given her. ‘That’s lovely, lad,’ she said, her eyes shining, as she threw it over her hair and crossing it over her bosom and then round her waist.

  ‘One of the married blokes said that his wife loves gifts of material,’ said Alex hesitantly. ‘It’s real silk from India.’

  She reached out and drew him to her bosom and hugged and kissed him. His face was scarlet by the time he escaped her embrace.

  Harry had opened his gift. It was a wooden box carved with flowers and small birds and the inside smelled of sandalwood. ‘This is … really nice,’ he said.

  Alex’s expression was anxious. ‘I thought you might have important things that you didn’t want mice or moths to get at.’

  Harry nodded. ‘You’re right, lad. I know just what to put in it.’ He placed it on the shelf above the gas cupboard. ‘Now how about a glass of sherry for you, ladies? I think we can bend the rules about you being too young to drink, Greta, as it’s Christmas. A beer for you, Alex? I’m not sure how old you are but the same goes for you as for Greta.’

  ‘I’ll be seventeen on April the first.’

  ‘But you’re no fool, lad,’ said Cissie, smiling.

  Two and a half years older than me, thought Greta. I’ll remember that date … and she wished that she could grow up faster.

  Later Cissie fell asleep and the other three played cards for halfpennies. Greta was convinced her father and Alex worked it between them so that she ended up with a pile of coins. They finished the day in the kitchen eating mince pies and Dundee cake, listening to a ghost story on the wireless. Greta was filled with such contentment as she climbed the stairs to bed that she wanted to cry. It had been a happy day and not the lonely, sad Christmas she had dreaded.

  8

  ‘So what are you going to do next about finding your mother and sisters, Alex?’ asked Greta, swallowing a yawn. It was a topic she didn’t really want to talk about and yet couldn’t leave alone. In her imagination his family hovered on the edge of her little world as if about to gatecrash.

  It was eleven thirty on Boxing Day and they were having a late breakfast. He gazed across the table at her. ‘I had hoped that maybe Mum might have written to your mam this Christmas at your old address but I’m sure you’d have mentioned it if a letter had been passed in here.’

  Greta looked across at her grandmother, who was getting ready to go out with her old flame. ‘Gran?’

  ‘Nothing, luv!’ Cissie tilted her hat at a rakish angle so that its peak tipped one eyebrow. ‘Perhaps your mother was too busy to write now she’s married again, lad.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Harry, taking a slice of toast from the toasting fork. ‘Fancy coming the park with me to watch the football, Alex? You might be lucky enough to get a kick around.’

  Alex hesitated and then smiled. ‘I wouldn’t mind. I had a few games with the local lads when we were stuck in Argentina. They’re really keen.’

  ‘Have you a pair of boots?’ asked Harry.

  ‘No, but I’ve a pair of deck shoes, which I’ve played in before.’

  Harry glanced at his daughter. ‘You’ll be OK on your own, won’t you, luv?’

  Greta would have liked to have spent more time in Alex’s company but guessed she would spend most of it on her own if she accompanied them, so pretended to be delighted at the thought of having the place to herself. ‘Of course, I will! I’ll make a rabbit stew. We can have it about three.’

  ‘I’ve got to be out by then, luv,’ said Harry hastily. ‘I’m going to Mrs Cox’s.’<
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  She scowled, as did Cissie. ‘Yer’re not visiting that widow on Boxing Day!’ said the old woman.

  Harry did not respond immediately, his strong teeth crunching into his slice of buttered toast. ‘What’s wrong with that? You’re visiting your old flame,’ he said gruffly, wondering what his mother-in-law would do if her husband turned up on her doorstep one day. Perhaps he should tell her that Sally’s father had got in touch with her a couple of years ago. It only took him a moment to decide to stick to what he had decided when his wife had died and keep mum. ‘Mrs Cox gets lonely,’ he murmured.

  ‘Lots of women know the pain of being left alone,’ said Cissie, her colour high, ‘but yer want to be careful, she could be getting ideas in her head.’

  Harry’s expression tightened. ‘I’m a grown man, Mrs Hardcastle! I still miss Sally but my moping about won’t bring her back. Besides … this old flame of yours … what do you have in mind with him? We don’t even know his name or where he lives.’

  ‘It’s Mick Donnelly and he lives down by the docks in Toxteth. He has five grown up children and knows I’m still married to that swine that left me. Although, it’s that long ago now I could get a divorce for his desertion. Any road, neither of us is in a rush to make changes in our lives just yet.’

  The annoyance in Harry’s face died, and he said softly, ‘Neither am I. So don’t be worrying … and that goes for you, too, Greta,’ he added.

  Greta shrugged. ‘Who said I am!’

  Yet she was still worrying, and after waving the three of them off and putting the rabbit on to stew, she lay on the sofa for at least ten minutes, thinking about the widow, wondering what she looked like and, also, about her daughters. What if her dad did decide to marry Mrs Cox? There was a war on and couples were rushing in to marriage. Would he move in with her, leaving Greta to stay with her gran? Or would she and her daughters move in with them? It wouldn’t half be a squash and maybe the widow would somehow work it so her grandmother would want to leave. Despite what she had said … perhaps she would go and live with that old flame of hers! Frowning, Greta’s hand reached for a chocolate, and as she nibbled it, she opened her gran’s Mills & Boon library book and began to read, but even as she did so, part of her mind was toying with a couple of ideas.