by Janet Tanner
With the letter in the post Margaret sat back to await a reply. It did not come. Margaret began to worry that the letter had not reached her. She had not heard that the girls’old home had been bombed but it was always possible. Or perhaps the woman had been killed and never identified. There were such tragedies in the cities, she knew, cases where bodies had been recovered but their papers lost so that they became no more than countless pieces of flotsam and jetsam to be buried in unmarked graves. Then one morning just as she had given up hope, a letter arrived. It was addressed to Elaine and Marie in the childish almost unintelligible hand and there was a note enclosed for her: ‘I got your letter. Sorry but I can’t come just now.’
No more. No promise for the future. No mention of the three pounds.
‘I can’t understand it, Harry,’ she said as they washed the dishes after the evening meal. ‘How can any mother treat her children that way? Sometimes I think the world has gone mad. There’s me, who’d do anything to have a child of my own, while she … well she just doesn’t seem to want to have anything to do with them.’
Harry muttered something. He was deep in his newspaper. Since newsprint had been restricted by government order he was not able to get one everyday and when he did he made sure he read it from cover to cover.
‘She must be a terrible woman,’ Margaret said, clattering dishes. ‘I even offered to help pay her train fare and still she hasn’t made the effort.’ She dared not tell Harry she had actually sent money – she knew he would be angry with her. ‘You can say what you like, Harry, she just doesn’t want them. People like that shouldn’t be allowed to have children.’
She turned to wipe the kitchen table and froze. Elaine was standing in the doorway and from the expression on her face Margaret knew she had heard every word.
‘Elaine!’ she said helplessly. ‘What are you doing here?’
The child had been out up the road, playing off-ground touch and ‘ghosties’and Margaret had thought she was safely out of the way.
‘I came in to go to the lav,’ Elaine said. ‘And I heard what you said. I heard what you said about my Mum.’ Her voice was tight and she looked close to tears. Margaret crossed to her.
‘Elaine, I didn’t mean it. It’s not true that your Mum doesn’t want you. You had a letter from her this very morning …’ She reached out and the child spun away, her weaselly face a mask of hate.
‘Don’t touch me! You said things about my Mum! You’re wicked! I hate you! And I hate it here!’
‘Elaine!’
‘Leave me alone! You’re horrible – you poxy bitch!’
Margaret gasped. She had thought at least Elaine’s language had improved. The child spun around, eyes blazing, and ran out of the door. Margaret tried to follow but she had gone, disappearing down the path into the gathering dusk.
‘Oh dear – I didn’t know she was there!’ Margaret said, distressed. ‘I wouldn’t have said what I did for the world if I’d known. Oh Harry …’
‘It’no good worrying about it,’ Harry said, sounding a little like a reincarnation of his father.
‘But she heard what I said – that her mother doesn’t want her …’
‘It’s no more than the truth. But I doubt she believed it anyway.’ Harry turned over a page of his newspaper. ‘She’s as hard as nails, that one.’
His refusal to be ruffled did nothing to ease Margaret’s anxiety. As she finished clearing up she continually went to the door, looking out to see if she could see the girls. But there was no sign of them. They were further up the road with Elaine’s gang, she supposed, but it was now almost dark and she thought it was time they came in. Added to her distress was a fear that Elaine might relay her remarks to Marie. Elaine was, as Harry had said, pretty resilient, but she hated to think how Marie would react if told of what she had said. Eventually, she could stand the waiting no longer.
‘I’m going to look for them,’ she told Harry.
‘Leave them be. They’re all right.’
‘They should be in. Goodness only knows what they’re up to.’
She got her coat and set out up the road in the direction of Batch Row. Part way along was a small square of recreation ground where a metal slide had stood until it was requisitioned in the drive for scrap metal for armaments and she saw some shadowy figures running about. Relieved she approached them and recognised one of her pupils from the Church School, a ragamuffin boy, last of a long family from Batch Row. She called to him.
‘Colin! I’m looking for Elaine and Marie. Do you know where they are?’
Colin approached warily. ‘No, Miss.’
‘What do you mean? I thought they were playing with you.’
‘They were, Miss, but they’ve gone. Ages ago.’
‘Gone? Gone where?’
‘Don’t know, Miss. They went that way.’ He pointed in the direction from which she had come. ‘I thought they were going home.’ He was sidling away from her and she knew she would get no more from him.
She stood for a moment looking around as if she expected them to materialise from the darkness, then started back down the road. Perhaps she had missed them somewhere or they were hiding. But she was aware of a qualm of misgiving and the sudden panicky thought that she might never see them again.
She reached the corner and stood looking up and down the hill but the road was deserted apart from a man walking his dog. A car came up the hill and suddenly its shaded lights picked up someone coming up on the pavement. A small figure. One, not two. But somebody. Too soon the hill was in darkness again but Margaret started down towards the figure. It could have been …
It was. Marie. Dragging her feet and coming slowly up the hill.
‘Where have you been?’ Margaret demanded. ‘Where is Elaine?’
‘She’s gone home.’
‘Home?’ Margaret looked back up the hill, puzzled, then realisation dawned. ‘What do you mean – home?’
‘Home – to London.’ Marie was shivering. She had no coat and now her teeth were chattering so much she could hardly speak. ‘She’s gone to find Mum. She wanted me to go with her but I didn’t want to.’
‘Oh my goodness! But where is she now?’ Margaret was on the point of dragging Marie back to Hillsbridge but the child stopped her.
‘She’s gone on a train. To Bath.’
‘How can she? She hasn’t got any money.’
Marie shrugged and Margaret groaned. She should have known Elaine would not let a little thing like lack of money stop her.
‘How long ago?’ she asked.
Marie shrugged again. Margaret checked her watch, holding it close to her eyes to see the dial by the fitful light of the moon. Eight o’clock. There was a train at twenty minutes to eight. If it had been on time it would almost have reached Bath by now. She grabbed Marie’s hand and began dragging her up the hill.
‘Come on – hurry! I shall have to get the police to meet the train at Bath.’
She was out of breath by the time they reached home so an astonished and annoyed Harry had to do the telephoning for her.
‘They’ll do what they can,’ he said, replacing the receiver, ‘though a child like Elaine might very well slip past a dozen special constables.’ He faced Marie sternly. ‘Have you any idea of the trouble you are causing us?’
Marie hung her head, her eyes filling with tears, and Margaret put a protective arm around her.
‘Not Marie,’ she said. ‘Not our little Marie.’
Harry snorted. His patience was very nearly exhausted.
‘All I can say is, it’s time they learned a little gratitude and a lot about how to behave themselves!’ he said snappily.
Marie had been bathed in the recommended six inches of water and was tucked up in bed when the telephone rang.
‘They’ve got her,’ Harry said replacing the receiver. ‘But not before she had raided the chocolate machine on the platform. Now she’s on her way back to us – more’s the pity!’
‘Shh
!’ Margaret admonished, looking towards the stairs. Bad enough that Elaine should have overheard her earlier this evening, if Marie heard Harry saying such things she would be disappearing next!
‘Something has to be done about those children,’ he returned. ‘They are out of control.’
She was too relieved that Elaine had been found to argue. She went upstairs and looked in on Marie. ‘Are you asleep?’
‘No.’ The voice was muffled, coming from beneath the bedclothes.
Margaret sat down on the edge of the bed.
‘Elaine has been found,’ she told Marie. ‘They are bringing her home.’
Marie did not answer. Margaret smoothed her hair where it lay on the pillow.
‘You wouldn’t do anything like that, would you, Marie?’
‘No,’ the child said. ‘I told you she wanted me to go but I wouldn’t. I don’t want to go back to London. I like it here.’
Margaret felt a wave of tenderness. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, it’s nice. Much nicer than London. And I like you too. You’re always here.’
Perhaps I haven’t failed totally, thought Margaret. If I’ve made Marie happy, I haven’t failed totally. Suddenly, in the silence, she heard Marie begin to cry softly.
‘What is it, darling?’ she asked, thinking that perhaps Elaine had after all repeated what she had overheard.
It was a long time before Marie would answer. Then she whispered between sobs: ‘You won’t send us away, will you, because of what Lainey’s done? You won’t send us back to London?’
A lump rose in Margaret’s throat and she took Marie’s hand in hers beneath the covers.
‘No, darling, of course I’m not going to send you away. You can stay here as long as you like.’
The child’s sobs subsided. Margaret went on holding her hand until she fell asleep.
The idea came to her that night and it was enough to keep her awake as it flowed through her veins like adrenalin. But it was the next evening before she had the chance to mention it to Harry.
‘I don’t suppose we could adopt them, could we?’
Harry had been lucky enough to get a newspaper two days running. He looked up from it reluctantly.
‘Adopt who?’
‘Elaine and Marie.’
He gazed at her in astonishment. ‘But they have a mother – and a father somewhere I presume.’
‘They’re glad to be rid of them, you said so yourself. And we could give them a good home. We don’t seem to be having much luck starting a family of our own.’
‘But Elaine and Marie!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘They’ve given us nothing but trouble since they came.’
‘I know, but that’s because they’re so unsettled. If they knew they were really wanted, not just dumped on us, things would be different.’
‘I can’t say I agree with you there,’ Harry said. ‘Marie isn’t a bad kid but Elaine … she’s a real handful. Personally, I think she’s a lost cause.’
‘No child is a lost cause! That’s a dreadful thing to say!’
‘You are too idealistic, Margaret. You think that all the ills of the world can be cured by love and understanding. You don’t believe some people are just plain bad. I believe you’d try to reason with Hitler if you met him.’
‘How can you compare Elaine with Hitler!’ Margaret blazed. ‘She is just a child who has never had a chance.’
‘She has had every chance since she’s been here. You have fallen over backwards to make her feel at home, you have bought her decent clothes, tried to find her interests, tucked her up in bed warm and dry and probably better off than she has ever been in her life. Not for two weeks, not for two months, but for two years and more. And nothing has changed. She is still resentful and untrustworthy. I still don’t care to leave my wallet lying about or my cupboard doors unlocked. And now you tell me you would like to have this liability strung around our necks for the rest of our lives!’
‘Amy did it!’ Margaret said defensively. ‘She adopted Huw.’
‘Amy had her reasons and yes, I grant you, that turned out very well. But it might not have done. It could have been disastrous. In any case the circumstances were quite different. Huw was an orphan. He was going to be sent to an Industrial School. Elaine and Marie, as I keep pointing out, have a mother, however inadequate she may be. It is nonsense for you to even think of adopting them, Margaret.’
‘It isn’t nonsense!’ Margaret suddenly felt close to tears as yet another dream came crashing down. ‘I could make them happy, I know I could. Oh, Elaine is difficult, I grant you, but Marie …’
Harry folded his paper and put it down, looking at her squarely.
‘That is the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Marie. If it was just Elaine I’m sure you’d never have suggested such a thing. It’s Marie you want to adopt and you feel you can’t do that without including Elaine. Your sense of fair play is in action again.’
She could not deny it.
He shook his head, reaching out for her and putting an arm around her waist.
‘Oh Marg, Marg, what am I going to do with you?’
She did not answer, simply drew a pattern on his newspaper with her fingernail.
‘Just as long as you don’t become too fond of Marie,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to see you hurt again.’
She nodded. For the moment there was nothing more to say.
Chapter Twenty-two
Eddie Roberts was not a happy man. He was in fact a yery worried one.
Saturday was usually a day of rest for him, a day when he would shut his briefcase on the pile of insurance books, turn his back on any outstanding council business and relax, pottering in the garden, listening to the wireless or indexing his collection of cigarette cards – an activity he was slightly ashamed of, since he regarded it as a little juvenile, but which he enjoyed far too much to give up. He had collected the cards from the time he began smoking – filling gaps in his sets had provided him with the excuse to buy one packet and then another, for his mother heartily disapproved of the habit and refused to allow him to indulge inside her pristine house. The stringencies of war meant the cards had been stopped, of course, but Eddie still enjoyed arranging his albums.
But on that last Saturday in April Eddie was quite unable to concentrate on any of his usual leisure activities. Instead, he had made at least three trips to the shed at the end of the garden where his bicycle was kept to reassure himself a certain two cardboard boxes were still there behind the pile of waste paper which was waiting to be taken to the collection point, prodding them and anxiously rearranging the old sacks which covered them. After each visit he stood in the doorway nervously fingering his chin and telling himself that no one visiting the shed would notice anything amiss, before trekking back up the path, kicking off his shoes in the back porch (shoes; like cigarettes, were taboo in Mrs Roberts’s home) and attempting once more to get back to Saturday normality.
Impossible. After only half an hour or so with his mind running in frantic circles, Eddie once more felt the need to assure himself that the boxes had not done some magical disappearing trick or his camouflage had not been interfered with.
‘Why do you keep going in and out, Eddie?’ his mother asked him as he padded across the kitchen in his stockinged feet for the fourth time in two hours. ‘You’re letting the cold in opening and shutting that door.’
‘Sorry, Mam.’ Eddie might be a local councillor who would never see forty again, but he had learned long ago not to argue with his mother. It simply did not pay. She always emerged the victor and even if she did not she was quite capable of making life unpleasant in a hundred ways in order to gain her revenge.
‘If you’re going out I wish you’d stay out. Dinner won’t be for another hour. I’ll call you when it’s ready.’
‘OK, Mam.’ Worried as he was he managed to make his voice sound quite normal, as if he did not have a care in the world.
As Mrs Roberts had said it was chilly for the time of
year, a cold breeze whipping along the backs of the houses, but several of Eddie’s neighbours were out in their gardens ‘digging for victory’.
‘Got your beans in yet, Eddie?’ Fred Brock from next door called to him. ‘T’was South Compton Fair Day last week, you know.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Eddie called back. He was not the world’s keenest gardener – his own patch was usually still overgrown with last year’s cabbages and strewn dead potato haulms long after the others were neatly planted and he was used to being gently upbraided about it by Fred Brock.
‘I’m going to build myself some rabbit hutches when my garden is ship-shape,’ Fred said, leaning on his spade. ‘Get myself a breeding doe and we shall soon be well away for rabbit meat. All you have to do is join the rabbit club and you can get all the bran and food stuff you need – I’ve been finding out about it. You could do worse than do the same. Plenty of room in that shed o’yourn for a couple of hutches.’
Eddie, on the point of trying to escape, went cold inside. What did Fred Brock know about his shed and what was in it? But there was no hint of leering suspicion on Fred’s weatherbeaten face.
‘I haven’t got time to look after rabbits,’ Eddie said rather pompously. ‘I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.’
‘Oh ah. Got you in the Home Guard now, haven’t they?’ Fred remarked.
Eddie snorted. He had not been pleased at being conscripted into the Home Guard. He hated having to turn out when he had finished a day’s work to do their silly drills and work on plans for combatting an invasion. Waste of time that was, in his opinion. If the Germans came the Home Guard, however good their intentions, would be no match for them and as a new and insignificant member he felt it was undignified to be ordered about by men he considered his inferiors. It was just another of the petty inconveniences which seemed to dog him these days and had done ever since he had crossed swords with Harry Hall. Why, if Harry himself had been responsible for Eddie’s conscription he wouldn’t have been surprised. Harry was always hobnobbing with the powers-that-be. And why wasn’t he wearing a scratchy uniform and crawling round hedges and ditches practising manoeuvres to outwit an enemy, Eddie would like to know!