A Place To Call Home

by June Francis

  She seized Rene’s shoulder. ‘Rene! Wake up, Rene!’ she croaked, her voice sounding peculiar inside her head, but there was no response.

  Then Greta heard a groan, and then a laugh and she looked up and saw the dark shape of a man pushing himself from the ground. ‘I’ve survived the bloody U-boats, only to be almost blown to Kingdom Come setting foot in the old home town!’ Greta only just caught the words because they seemed to be coming from a long way off. She put her fingers in her ears and waggled them about.

  He staggered towards them and almost fell on his knees beside Rene’s prone body. Greta could see his face clearly in the reflection of the flames lighting up the roofs of the houses on the other side of the street. Taking hold of Rene’s wrist he felt for a pulse. ‘Not dead,’ he mouthed, dropping her hand and facing Greta. ‘Want some help with her?’

  ‘Thanks!’

  He slid his hands beneath Rene and lifted her into a sitting position. ‘If you could give us a hand getting her up, I’ll carry her,’ he shouted.

  Greta hurried to help him, aware of distant voices and the whoosh of flames but both sounded muffled as if she was wearing her hat over her ears. ‘Big woman, isn’t she?’ he gasped, heaving her over his shoulder.

  Greta agreed and picked up Rene’s handbag with a trembling hand. She did not bother searching for the torches, convinced they would both be broken. She wanted to get home, go down into the cellar and hide beneath the stairs.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

  Greta told him and they set off, not bothering to glance skywards, because the aeroplane that had dropped its cluster of bombs had gone. She jogged at the man’s side. ‘I wonder if she was hit by a chunk of brick or whether her head caught the wall as we were blown out,’ said Greta.

  ‘Could be,’ he yelled. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Rene. Rene Miller.’

  A ragged laugh broke from him. ‘Bloody hell! I remember her as a girl. I’ve come to call on her mother.’

  Greta stared at him in astonishment. ‘That’s some coincidence. Who are you?’

  ‘You won’t know me. Far too young. Name’s Hardcastle! Jeff Hardcastle. My mother used to live next door to the Millers.’

  Greta stopped dead. Had she misheard him? ‘Did you say Jeff Hardcastle?’ she shouted.

  ‘That’s right. Jeff Hardcastle.’

  ‘But you can’t be!’ Her mind was in a whirl.

  He halted and peered at her. The light was poorer now they were further away from the fire. ‘I know who I am, girl. Who are you?’

  ‘My mam was your sister. I’m your niece, Greta Peters! As for Gran … she’s still living next door to the Millers.’

  ‘But Ma’s dead! We were told she was dead.’ He sounded completely baffled. ‘Our Fred wrote years ago and never got a reply. He kept on writing every Christmas until he got a letter from Mrs Miller saying Ma was dead.’

  Greta could not believe it. ‘Mrs Miller wrote that?’

  Before he could answer, Rene suddenly jerked upright, resting both hands on his shoulder. Her hat was over one eye and she fixed the other on Greta. ‘What happened? Where am I?’ She turned her head slowly and jumped visibly when she caught a sideward view of Jeff’s head.

  Greta said joyfully, ‘Thank God, you’re OK! But perhaps you should see a doctor!’

  Rene ignored her, continuing to stare at Jeff’s profile. ‘Who’s this? What’s he doing carrying me? Let me down!’ She struggled in his hold.

  He released her abruptly and she would have fallen if Greta had not grabbed hold of her arm and steadied her. ‘Careful, Rene. You were knocked unconscious. You could have a concussion.’

  ‘I can’t hear you properly,’ said Rene, shaking her head.

  Jeff was frowning. ‘Is this girl telling me the truth, Rene? Is me mam alive?’ he yelled.

  ‘What?’ Rene pulled her arm out of Greta’s hold and took a step away from him but then her legs buckled beneath her and the girl had to grab hold of her again. Rene clung to her. ‘What’s he saying? I can’t hear properly. I want to go home.’

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ said Greta, managing to keep Rene upright by forcing her shoulder beneath her armpit. ‘He says he’s my Uncle Jeff.’

  ‘Still can’t hear. Something’s wrong with my ears.’

  Greta could not be bothered explaining and, ignoring the man who claimed to be her uncle, concentrated on getting Rene home.

  She wondered how she would manage to open the front door but Wilf was standing in the doorway as she approached.

  ‘Thank God, luv! Yer mam’s having hysterics!’

  ‘We got caught in the blast from an explosion,’ shouted Greta. ‘Rene lost consciousness. Help her in, Wilf.’

  ‘No need to shout, luv. I’m not deaf.’ Wilf took Rene from her and managed to lift her into the house.

  ‘Look after her,’ said Greta, her voice trembling.

  ‘Of course, I will, girl,’ assured Wilf.

  The door closed.

  Greta turned and bumped into the man standing behind her.

  ‘That wasn’t Mr Miller, was it?’ he asked.

  ‘No, he’s Wilf the lodger, an ex-sailor. Surely you’d know Mr Miller if you were my Uncle Jeff.’ She gazed at him suspiciously. ‘Mr Miller is dead.’

  ‘I’m Jeff Hardcastle and I grew up in this street,’ he said angrily. ‘Now let’s go and see Ma.’ Greta almost demanded to know where the hell he had been since. She crossed over to her own front door. ‘Ma won’t be in the shelter?’ he said.

  Greta shook her head. ‘She’ll be sitting in front of the fire if I’m not mistaken.’ She led the way up the darkened lobby and pushed open the kitchen door and blinked in the gaslight. Cissie was sitting in front of the fire just as Greta had said. She wondered if her grandmother would recognise her eldest son. She wondered what had brought him back if he had believed his mother was dead. Just as puzzling was how Mrs Miller had known where to write to her Uncle Fred. ‘Hello, Ma! How are yer doin’?’ Jeff smiled as he walked over to his mother, but she looked at him like something the cat had brought in and made no move to greet him.

  ‘He says he’s your son Jeff, Gran,’ said Greta, able to have a proper look at him now. He was a good looking man with a thick crop of tawny hair, a strong nose and a smile that carved dimples in his cheeks. She estimated that he was a few years older than her father.

  ‘I was told you were dead,’ said Jeff loudly, removing a dining chair from underneath the table and setting it down next to Cissie’s armchair.

  ‘Might as well be dead. My Mick’s dead,’ muttered Cissie, looking away from him and into the fire.

  ‘What was that she said?’ asked Jeff, frowning as he looked up at Greta.

  ‘Her old flame was killed in the blitz and since then it’s as if she doesn’t want to live anymore.’ Greta gazed at her grandmother with sadness in her eyes.

  ‘Can’t be bloody having her willing herself to die,’ he said impatiently. ‘Not when I haven’t seen her for donkey’s years. It’s that bitch next door’s fault. She told our Fred Ma was dead and our Sal had been taken away to a lunatic asylum and didn’t know anyone.’

  Greta gasped with horror. ‘Mrs Miller said that about my mam!’

  ‘Yeah!’ His eyes were hard. ‘I take it that’s not true, either?’

  ‘Mam was as sane as I am when she died. I don’t think she ever got over her brothers not getting in touch. But if Mrs Miller told you those things then … ’ Greta paused. She felt dizzy and sat down on the sofa hastily. She was silent a few moments, aware of her uncle’s eyes on her. Then she cried, ‘I don’t understand! How did she get hold of Uncle Fred’s letters? And why the hell didn’t you visit Mam years ago if you thought she was in a loony bin? It’s a bit late you having a conscience about her now!’

  He reddened. ‘I’ve had to make a living, haven’t I? Besides, I thought she wouldn’t know me. I’m here now because me ship was hit by a torpedo and so we were towed
into Liverpool for repairs. That’s when I decided to visit Mrs Miller and see if she could give me a berth for the night. See if there was any chance of seeing our Sal, of course. But if she’s dead I’m sorry about that.’

  Greta wondered just how sincere was his regret. Despite his excuses, surely he could have made an effort to see her mother before now if he had really cared about her.

  Unexpectedly, Cissie reached out a hand and placed it on Jeff’s arm. ‘You say there were letters from our Fred?’

  ‘That’s right, Ma.’ Jeff squeezed her hand and smiled. ‘Found your tongue, have yer?’

  Cissie gazed into his face. ‘The prodigal has returned, has he? My son, Jeff. What the hell do yer want after all this time?’

  ‘A flying visit, Ma. If yer remember I’m a seaman. That’s why I’m away a lot. I sail the seven seas just like one of your heroes, Admiral Horatio Nelson.’

  Cissie’s mouth hardened. ‘The only similarity between you and Nelson is that you carried on with another man’s wife. You were only eighteen when I was told you’d been seen with an older woman in a pub,’ she snapped. ‘You’re just like yer father!’

  ‘Hold on, Ma!’ he protested. ‘That wasn’t my fault! She led me astray.’

  ‘Don’t give me that! I spoke to her and she told me … ’

  He interrupted her swiftly, ‘You shouldn’t be talking like that with the girl here, Ma.’

  ‘Don’t mind me!’ muttered Greta. ‘A brother, who didn’t have the decency to come and see how his mother and sister were after the worst war in history, isn’t much cop in my opinion.’

  Jeff scowled. ‘You shut your mouth, girl! I had a pregnant wife to worry about. She needed me.’

  ‘So I’ve another grandchild,’ said Cissie. ‘You could have written and told me.’

  Jeff hesitated. ‘The child died! You can imagine how that made us feel … an-and I lost me missus recently in the blitz on Southampton. Life hasn’t been easy for me, Ma.’

  ‘You could have still written,’ said Greta.

  Her uncle glared at her. ‘You have too much to say for yourself. Get the kettle on and make a cup of tea for me and your gran and leave the talking to us.’

  Greta was about to say he had no right to give her orders when her grandmother said, ‘I could do with a cup of tea, luv.’

  Greta nodded and put the kettle on to boil. Her head still felt muggy so she sat on the sofa, intending to listen to their conversation. Instead she fell fast asleep.

  She woke with a start and gazed about the kitchen as if in a dream. Daylight was filtering through the curtains and then she remembered not only the explosion but its aftermath. She guessed that her father and Alex had not arrived home because surely they would have roused her. She could only pray that they were OK. She scowled, wondering where her uncle was and presumed he was upstairs in one of the beds. Why hadn’t her gran woken her? She felt stiff and sore and looking in the mirror saw that she had a scrape on her cheek, as well as cuts on her hands, and that she had torn her stockings. Damn! She pulled back the curtains in order to see the clock clearly. The time gave her another start. If she didn’t get a move on, she would be late for work.

  She was on her way out of the house just as Alex and Harry walked up the street. ‘I won’t hug the pair of you because you’ll make me filthy but you’re a sight for sore eyes,’ she said and sniffed back tears.

  ‘No need to get yourself upset, luv,’ said Harry, putting an arm round her. ‘How are things here? Your gran OK?’

  She decided not to say anything about the explosion. After all, her hearing had improved and it would only worry them unnecessarily. ‘Gran’s fine. We had a visitor last night so he could be in either of your beds.’ Her mouth set in a disapproving line.

  Harry looked surprised and rasped his unshaven chin with a fingernail. ‘Who?’

  ‘Mam’s brother!’ She saw his expression change and added hastily, ‘I know what you’re thinking because that’s how I felt and still do, but one of his excuses is going to amaze you. Anyway, I’m off!’

  She rammed her hat on her head and would have hurried past them but Alex caught hold of her arm and gazed into her face. ‘You’ve hurt your cheek. How did you do that?’ She was about to make light of it when the neighbouring front door opened and Rene appeared. She looked pale and drawn but was dressed for outdoors. She started when she saw the three of them on the step.

  ‘Hello, Harry, Alex! I’m coming, Greta,’ she said.

  Gently Greta freed herself from Alex’s hold and went over to her. ‘Are you sure?’ she whispered. ‘You were out for the count, you know!’

  ‘I can’t remember all that happened but I can’t afford to stay off work,’ said Rene.

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Harry, catching her words. ‘You don’t look too good, Rene.’ He looked concerned.

  ‘It’s OK. Dad, I’ll see she’s all right!’ Greta said quickly, and grabbing Rene’s arm, hurried her away. The girl prayed her father would not follow them. She was in a quandary just what should she say to Rene about what Jeff had told her about Fred’s letters? They walked up the street, greeting neighbours on their way to work. Rene was quiet and Greta did not feel up to making conversation either. They’d had a close shave and could so easily have not been there that morning. The weather was cold but Greta was so grateful to feel the wind’s chill on her face. Shrapnel, chunks of brick and charred wood littered the ground as they approached the opening to the entry. There was a strong smell of dampened down fire and explosive.

  ‘What actually happened?’ said Rene, putting a hand to her head. ‘I remember coming to and I was being carried. There was a man, who looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I still can’t hear properly.’

  Greta hesitated. ‘It was my Uncle Jeff. He’d come looking for Mam.’

  Rene’s eyes flew wide. ‘You’re joking!’

  Greta shook her head.

  ‘He’s got a nerve after all this time,’ said Rene angrily

  ‘That’s what I thought but,’ said Greta hesitantly, ‘things aren’t as straightforward as that.’

  Rene stared at her. ‘What d’you mean?’

  It was on the tip of Greta’s tongue to tell her what her uncle had said but she managed to restrain herself just in time, reminding herself that Rene had to get through a day’s work and was already shaken up after their near death experience. She did not need the extra worry of wondering why and how her mother had been able to write to Fred and tell him not only that his mother was dead but that his sister was in a lunatic asylum.

  ‘I think you should talk to him,’ she said.

  Rene shook her head, then winced. ‘Do you have to be so mysterious?’

  Greta shrugged and said no more. She could not wait to get home that evening to find out how the news had affected her grandmother. She could not see her taking it lightly and was bound to want to take it up with Rene’s mother.

  *

  ‘Ma! I know how yer feel! I’d like to bloody tear the woman apart but according to Harry and that lad Alex she’s a cripple,’ said Jeff, laying a restraining hand on his mother’s arm. She had been chafing at the bit ever since she had got up, just after one o’clock that afternoon. He had been out and bought her flowers and she had accused him of trying to soft-soap her. He had told her that she had the wrong word and that he intended to spoil her. She had grunted and gone out shopping, now the evening meal was in the oven and she was sitting, twiddling her thumbs.

  Cissie shook his hand off. ‘I can bleedin’ well do what I like,’ she said, the light of battle in her eyes. ‘How did she get her hands on our Fred’s letters, that’s what I want to know! They were addressed to me and he couldn’t have put the wrong number on … couldn’t have forgotten the home where he’d grown up.’ She choked on the words and Jeff watched her struggle to gain control of herself. He patted her shoulder. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, got to her feet and st
ormed out of the house.

  Jeff swore. He had made up his mind to get his revenge in his own way but he could not tell his mother that. Despite the things she’d done wrong in her life, it was obvious from the way she’d spoken that Cissie wouldn’t approve of his idea of revenge. He was going to go after her but he had removed his shoes and had to put them on before hurrying out. Cissie had already disappeared next door but coming towards him were Greta and Rene.

  Rene stared at him. ‘Greta said it was you. So what made you come back home after all this time? Expected your mother to kill the fatted calf?’

  Jeff glanced at his niece. ‘Greta hasn’t told you?’

  ‘She’s been very mysterious, would only say that I should speak to you.’

  ‘Did she now? Well, I’ll tell yer, girl. Somehow your mother got hold of our Fred’s letters to Ma and she never passed them on. Then your mother wrote and told him that Ma was dead and that Sal was in a lunatic asylum and didn’t recognise anyone so it was a waste of time either of us making the effort to come and see her.’

  Rene staggered back as if she had been hit. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she gasped, leaning against the fence. ‘Why should she do that? How could she do it?’

  ‘I think she’s bloody evil, that’s why,’ snapped Jeff, hands on hips. ‘Ma’s in with her now, trying to get to the bottom of it.’

  ‘Oh hell!’ murmured Greta.

  Rene blinked at him, moistened her lips and then blundered towards her front door which was ajar. Greta hastened in her wake but called over her shoulder, ‘Uncle Jeff, you’d best stay here. The sight of you might give the old cow a heart attack.’

  Jeff hesitated, unsure what to do. He soon decided to go off to the pub and leave it to the women.

  It was as silent as the grave as they went up the lobby. Greta wondered if Cissie had slain her long time neighbour with the kitchen knife in her fury and fled out the back way.

  Rene pushed open the kitchen door and stopped abruptly. Greta peered over her shoulder to see Wilf with his arm around Cissie. They could not see her face because she had a cloth to it. Vera sat in her chair, facing away from them towards the fire, which crackled and sent out sparks.