by Mary Gibson
An insistent knocking dragged her from deep sleep.
‘All right, all right, I’m coming!’ With the overcoat around her shoulders and half- closed eyes, she felt her way to the front door. When she saw them, she didn’t have to ask what had happened.
There was May, dressed for a night out in her new royal-blue dress, now charcoal-streaked and pitted with cinders, Atkinson’s coral-pink lipstick fading, dried tears streaking her ash-powdered face, pleading eyes begging Peggy to let bygones be bygones, almost pushing their mother over the threshold. And Mum. Poor Mum, hardly there any more, bewildered, homeless. What else could she do, but take them in?
But once her mother was settled into bed in the spare room, Peggy asked May, ‘How did Dad take it, your coming to me?’
May pulled a face. ‘He didn’t like it. Said you were no daughter of his, didn’t want Mum coming here!’ She cupped the hot tea and sipped the steaming liquid.
It was no more than her father had already said to Peggy’s face, but it still stung.
‘And you stood up to him? What did you say?’
‘I told him this was no time to be falling out with his family and if he wanted to lose Mum altogether he was going the right way about it. I slept with her last night, Peg, down the Underground, and I swear if we don’t do something soon, she’ll wander off – right under a bloody Tube train. I thought she might be getting better, but this has knocked her for six.’
Her sister looked thoughtfully into the fire. Peggy had just got it burning nicely. Normally she didn’t bother with a fire in the morning; she was always up and out before the cold hit her. But her family had been out all through the freezing night and May’s lips were blue.
‘He’s surprised me the way he’s treated you, Peg,’ May said finally. ‘I’ve never seen him so stubborn, have you?’
Peggy sighed deeply and shook her head. ‘I’ve really disappointed him, haven’t I?’
May nodded. ‘And all those tricks he taught us, “never look forward to anything…”’
‘“… and you won’t be disappointed!”’ Peggy chimed in.
It was true. Her father had walled himself in from disappointment so strongly that when he’d least expected it, there it was, smashing through all his defences, and she was the cause. No wonder he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Peggy knew how he felt. She’d always been one to put her head firmly in the sand; avoiding a problem seemed easier than solving it. But her ‘problem’ had just turned up on the doorstep, in the form of her bombed-out family, and there was no ignoring them.
‘But what can I do, May? If he doesn’t want to see me I can’t force him. You don’t think he’ll try to carry on living in the house?’
May shrugged. ‘Depends how bad it is. But if he swallowed his pride and came here, would you have him?’
‘He’s still me dad.’
May seemed satisfied. She stood up and went to get her coat.
‘What are you doing?’ Peggy asked. ‘You’ve had no sleep. You’re not going out again now?’
Her sister pulled on her coat over the ruined royal-blue Christmas dress.
‘I slept a bit on the platform. Besides, you’re forgetting I’m a gunner girl now!’ May grinned. ‘We’re up and out in three minutes, all weathers, with our dinkie curlers under the tin hats. Sleep’s something you do standing up!’
Peggy laughed. Her sister’s life sounded very much like her own.
‘We hide our dinkie curlers under our turbans at Atkinson’s. Who’s got time for hairdressers? Talking of which, I’ve got to get ready myself. Do you think Mum will be all right on her own?’
‘She’ll have to be. I’m off to find Dad. See you later, love… and thanks.’
Peggy caught May in a tight hug. ‘You’re my family, May. Just because Mum and Dad’s fallen out with me, don’t mean I’m any less your sister, or their daughter…’
May hugged her back. ‘I’ll try to persuade him.’
But that evening, when Peggy got home from work, the flat was deserted. Obviously May had failed to persuade her father, and Mrs Lloyd must have already left for London Bridge. Peggy began unpacking groceries she’d picked up on the way home. When her father had run from the house, he’d followed the drill and grabbed the suitcase containing the policies and ration books, and May had brought it with her. Peggy had used some of their coupons to boost her own. She was looking at the tin of despised powdered egg, wondering how she could make an edible dinner with that and a few rashers of bacon, when a knock came at the door.
It was May, with Granny Byron in tow.
The old woman looked at the powdered egg with disdain. ‘Your George had his uses. Don’t suppose you’ve heard from him?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘I don’t expect to, Nan. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.’
She pulled out a seat for her grandmother and looked enquiringly at May. It was unusual for Granny Byron to visit her grandchildren; they were expected to do the visiting. But as May sat down next to her, it was clear that the old woman had come with a purpose. She took out her snuffbox and Peggy saw May grimace.
‘Nah then,’ Granny Byron said, once she’d recovered from a volcanic sneeze, pointing to Peggy, ‘your dad’s like you. Head in the sand. While he’s off fighting other people’s fires, his own family goin’ up in smoke. Useless! So, we’ll have to be the ones to help your poor mother. It’s my belief she just needs a bit of peace and quiet and she won’t get none round here.’ She slapped the table to emphasize the point.
Peggy hadn’t liked her accusing finger, but she did agree with Granny Byron about her mother.
‘I could speak to the billeting officer at the WVS. See if we could get Mum evacuated?’ she suggested.
‘No need!’ May chipped in. ‘I’ve had an idea. I know someone, back at the base, who might be able to find her a place. A girl in my gun team’s got an old bachelor uncle, lives out in the sticks, with an empty cottage on his land. She told me just before we went on leave that he lost his evacuees and he was so upset about it, he was fond of them. Only thing is… he’s a bit eccentric, I think...’
‘Well, it’ll certainly be quicker than pissin’ about waiting for them lot to fill in all the bleedin’ forms,’ Granny Byron said.
Peggy wasn’t sure it was a good idea to pair a nervous breakdown with a dotty bachelor, but her grandmother had made her pronouncement and it appeared the war council was over. Granny Byron reached for her well-worn handbag.
‘All we’ve got to do now is sort out yer father!’
And she left them to their powdered egg and bacon.
‘What’s going to happen about Christmas?’ May asked when she’d gone, and Peggy wished she hadn’t. There was nothing she wanted to do less than be responsible for supplying forced Christmas cheer and mock turkey. Besides, the part of her that was alive was a hundred odd miles away. The cruelty of not being able to see Harry one more time before he went overseas was more painful than at times she could bear. Yet there was someone she could see, who would bring him that little bit closer.
‘May, I was thinking—’
‘What? Oh God, Peg, this egg is vile, want mine?’ Her sister was chewing on a rubbery lump of what was supposed to be omelette.
‘No. Listen, I was thinking…’ Why was it so hard to ask? Yet she was blushing. ‘Before you go back to Essex, would you take me to see little Jack?’
May swallowed the egg. ‘Oh, love. I didn’t know how you’d feel about him. But of course I’ll take you.’
Peggy smiled. ‘Well, you said Bill’s mum seemed to be on your side. I’m hoping she’ll be on mine too.’
‘She seemed a live-and-let-live type of woman. Besides, she knows George’s got a different side to him. Her brother’s a friend of his. Freddie Clark, do you know him?’
‘Freddie Clark’s her brother? He’s got a lorry firm, up Dockhead. But he’s gone straight. George always said he’s under the thumb, but he’s a nice bloke. Anyway, thanks,
love. I just want to be able to let Harry know I’ve seen his little boy…’
But it was more than that. Little Jack was part of Harry, and half-brother to her unborn child. He already felt like family.
As they cleared away the plates, Peggy asked, ‘So what happened with Dad today?’
May looked embarrassed. ‘He’s not budging. You know what he’s like, defending the place from looters… so he says.’
Peggy doubted that was the only reason he hadn’t come to her with the family.
‘He’s camping out in the downstairs kitchen,’ May went on. ‘There’s running water, but no gas. He’s got himself a camp bed from the rest centre and some blankets. Says he had to put up with much worse in the last war. But he can’t live like that forever.’
‘Did he say anything about me? You did make sure he knows he can come here?’
‘He knows that, Peg.’
‘It don’t make no sense to me, May. He’s got more loyalty to George than to his own daughter…’ Her sadness and sense of betrayal had now become tinged with anger. ‘And George is not exactly snowy white himself, is he?’
‘There’s one rule for the men and another for us, that’s what Granny Byron always says.’
‘Well, she’s right there. Sometimes I think she’s the only one in this family that’s got her head screwed on right.’ Peggy sighed. ‘Oh, May, I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
Suddenly fatigue and fear caught her in a pincer-like grip. Once she’d seen her future, clearly mapped out, dull but safe. Now this war had set everything in motion, nothing was certain, nothing solid. Tomorrow the walls of Purbrook Estate could come crashing round her; the pavement she walked along could explode beneath her feet. Perhaps anxiety was the price she had to pay for passion, and today she wondered for the first time if it was worth it.
‘You’re not on your own, Peg,’ her sister said, putting a hand over hers. ‘You’ve got Nan, and me, and now even Mum…’
Peggy laughed bitterly. ‘Yeah, but only because she doesn’t know what day it is.’
‘Perhaps.’ May smiled. ‘But now she’s staying here, Dad will have to come round, sooner or later.’
Peggy wished she could believe that.
But by Christmas morning her father still hadn’t relented, and May told Peggy he’d be spending the day on ARP duties. She couldn’t feel guilty; it was his choice. But she wasn’t free from guilt about George. There were days, and today was one of them, when he came vividly to her mind. Usually it was in the mornings, when she put on her clothes. Her hand would sometimes reach automatically for the dowdy, old-fashioned blouses or skirts he’d kept her buttoned up in. Or sometimes when she put on lipstick, she’d feel him looking over her shoulder. But today was Christmas Day, and she remembered him at his best. The life and soul of the party, everybody’s friend – ‘a lovely feller’, her mum had always called him. But they hadn’t had to live with him. Still, today, she imagined him eating his prison Christmas lunch, and it was she who felt like the criminal. She had debated visiting him, before Christmas, but an encounter with Ronnie Riley had changed her mind.
She’d been persuaded by some of the girls from Atkinson’s to go for a Christmas drink in the Turk’s Head. It was the first evening off from the canteen she’d had in weeks and she’d agreed. Only intending to stay an hour, the girls were in good voice, and after a couple of drinks so was she. When Ronnie Riley came through the door he walked past their table as if he hadn’t seen her. It was unfortunate that they were in the middle of singing ‘Somebody Else Is Taking My Place’, though Peggy wasn’t about to stop singing for him. But he was obviously listening, and when they got to the lines ‘You go around with a smile on your face, Little you care for the vows that you’ve made’, he smashed down the pint glass on to the bar and walked over to them. Leaning heavily on the table, he stuck his face close to hers.‘You should keep yer mouth shut, you should, and yer fuckin’ legs together an’ all. Showin’ up George with that fancy man of yours – and his bastard!’
There was a stunned silence at the table as the girls took in what had just been said. Peggy had told no one at work about Harry, nor about being pregnant. Her face burned with shame and she was about to run out of the pub, when she felt a restraining hand on hers. It was Hattie, her hatchet-faced forelady, who in a voice like a Thames foghorn boomed, ‘Piss off an’ pick on someone yer own size!’ Then, turning to Peggy, she said, ‘Ignore him, love, he’s just the organ grinder’s monkey! What y’avin?’
Ignored by the girls, Ronnie shrugged up the collar of his camel coat several times before banging out of the pub door, accompanied by their laughter. As the woman went to get the drinks, one of the other married girls, whose husband was in the forces, leaned forward to Peggy and said quietly, ‘You’re not the only one to have a bit of fun, love. I met a smashin’ soldier up the West End. What the old man don’t know can’t hurt him, eh?’
Peggy was grateful that the girls asked no questions and gave her only sympathetic looks, but, for her, the evening had been ruined, and not long afterwards she’d made her escape.
Their Christmas Day was a sad one. They sat squashed into her little kitchen, trying to be cheerful, all the women in her fractured family. No Grandad, no Dad, no husband, but most painful of all no brother. And May, whatever she said to the contrary, was forlorn without Bill, the sweetheart who had never been. And she without her Harry, the sweetheart who never should have been. The war had robbed them of all their men, one way or another, and she was glad when the day was over.
*
Before May returned to her base she made good her promise to take Peggy to see Harry’s child. There was no hint of condemnation in Mrs Gilbie’s face, as she showed them through her front room, where paper chains draped the ceiling and in one corner stood a decorated Christmas tree. How they’d managed to get one of those, Peggy couldn’t imagine, but the place certainly had more festive cheer about it than her own flat.
‘Come into the kitchen. Jack’s in the playpen, where I can keep an eye on him. Little terror’s into everything now!’
She would have known he was Harry’s son, just by the eyes. So bright and alert, he spotted her, curious about this stranger in the kitchen, and pulled himself up on the wooden bars. Mrs Gilbie lifted the toddler out of the playpen and he clung a little shyly to her.
‘Get the present out, Peg,’ May said, and Peggy brought out a toy car from her bag. Immediately the little boy wriggled down from Mrs Gilbie’s arms and trotted over to Peggy. Sitting down heavily at her feet, he began playing with the toy and Peggy was happy to be ignored. She looked up, smiling, at Mrs Gilbie. ‘He seems a happy little thing?’
‘He’s good as gold. Bright as a button. He’s a bit shy at the moment, but wait till you hear him talk. You wouldn’t believe he’s never been here before.’ She looked proudly at little Jack and Peggy liked the woman, if for no other reason than her devotion to Harry’s son.
‘Have you heard from his dad?’ Mrs Gilbie asked
‘Daddy a soldier.’ Jack didn’t look up from his car, and the woman shot her a look ‘Earwigo!’ she said, and they all laughed at the clever little boy.
When Mrs Gilbie went to make tea, Jack stayed happily with them and Peggy turned to May. ‘Doesn’t it make you think, looking at him, he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.’
‘And for Bill…’ May said.
‘What about Bill?’ Mrs Gilbie came in from the scullery with a tray of tea things.
‘Oh, we were just talking about the day we found Jack. It’s strange how things worked out…’ May said, a little wistfully, Peggy thought.
‘Well, they still have a lot more working out to do if you ask me.’ Bill’s mother sat back and looked from one sister to the other. ‘You two have got yourselves into a right pickle, haven’t you?’
Peggy found herself going hot. She had hoped Mrs Gilbie might simply ignore the reason she’d come to see Jack. There weren’t many people o
f the woman’s generation who wouldn’t condemn her, so Peggy was surprised when her clear blue eyes flashed with amusement.
‘My advice to you two is to take a leaf out of my husband’s book. Persistence pays off, was always his motto. He knew we were made for each other, right from the start, but I didn’t see it for a long while…’ She was silent, a small smile on her face, as she remembered that long-distant version of herself.
‘Ah well, it won’t be easy for you, Peggy, but there’s nothing more important than being with the right one. And that goes for you too…’ She shot a look at May, who seemed startled to be caught in the penetrating gaze of Bill’s mother. ‘Did you write to my Bill?’
‘I did, y-yes…’ May seemed flustered. ‘I told him I didn’t mean to lose touch… and, of course, I told him I was pleased for him, you know, his engagement.’
‘Of course you did,’ Mrs Gilbie said, with an inscrutable shake of her head. She paused to retrieve Jack who had wandered off and was now inspecting the knives in the cutlery drawer.
‘Let’s take him out in the yard,’ Mrs Gilbie said, coaxing him away from the knives. ‘I’ll show you our crater!’
The Gilbie’s backyard at first glance was like any other wartime garden: an Anderson shelter dominated, there was an outside lavatory, an iron mangle beneath a lean-to and a tin bath hanging on one wall. But as they stepped outside the scullery door Peggy gasped, for almost the entire area of the garden was taken up with a bomb crater.
‘Uncle Sam!’ Little Jack pointed a finger at the crater. But Mrs Gilbie quickly explained. ‘My husband was running to the shelter when the bomb fell, two yards away from him! But he’d just dug over all the yard to plant veg, lovely lot of manure he’d forked in. Anyway, all that soft earth must’ve taken the blast, because when I looked out from the Anderson, there he is, head poking up out of the crater!’
‘Was he all right?’ May asked.
‘Well, apart from being covered in horse shit, he was right as rain. I pulled him out and dragged him in the shelter. I think I was shaking more than him. Of course, the little one here didn’t miss a trick. He got so upset. But my husband says, “Don’t worry, son. I didn’t come through the last war just to get blown up in my own backyard!”’