by Carol Rivers
‘You can’t keep Frank Connor down for long.’
‘I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humour.’
He pushed his hand round his stubbly jaw. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘Harry brought you home on Tuesday and now it’s Friday.’
He licked his parched lips. ‘I’m starving.’
‘There’s a broth simmering on the stove. I hoped the smell would bring you round and it has.’
They both laughed. Then Birdie asked hesitantly, ‘Frank, what are your true feelings towards Inga?’
‘Why do you ask that, gel?’
‘You’ve been saying she was only trying to help you.’
Frank looked down at the blanket and folded it over with his shaky hands. ‘Must’ve been off me trolley. Don’t take no notice.’
‘You get carried away with a pretty face. And she seemed to have a hold over you.’
‘That’s all over now.’ He looked up at her sadly.
‘I hope so.’ Birdie wanted to believe him, but could she? Once she had been able to see if he was telling her the truth, but now his eyes were distant, as if he was thinking of something far away. And although, whilst he’d been ill, she had cut away his long, dyed black hair and beard, leaving his true bright ginger to grow back, his face was so sunken and thin that it was hard to see the old Frank.
He caught her wrist as she stood up. ‘What’s Dad got to say about all this?’
She sat down again. ‘Frank, Dad’s in hospital. He’s got TB. And then he had a stroke. He’s not very well.’
‘Christ Almighty!’
‘But the doctor thinks he’ll get better.’
‘Poor sod.’ Frank’s lips trembled. ‘So he don’t know I’m here?’
‘No.’
‘I was hoping that distance had made the heart grow fonder and he might have forgiven me.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive you for. If Dad were to see you, though—’
‘Do you really think he’d change his mind?’ Frank asked, his eyes widening hopefully.
‘We’ll have to see. At the moment he’s very sick.’
‘Poor bugger. He always did have a rotten cough.’
‘Frank, don’t think about that, now. We’ve got to get you well.’
‘Birdie?’
‘What?’
‘Thanks, gel.’ He sniffed loudly. ‘For believing in me.’
She smiled. ‘I always have and always will.’
In the kitchen she dabbed her eyes with her apron hem. Then she pulled back her shoulders, took hold of the wooden spoon and turned the bubbling stew energetically.
That night, Pat burst in at the back door after work. The weather outside was cold and blustery. His nose and cheeks were red under his cap.
‘How’s Frank?’ he demanded, as he tore off his coat. Birdie stopped him before he ran in. ‘Don’t go pestering your brother. He’s coming round nicely.
‘You mean the fever’s gone?’
Birdie smiled. ‘Yes, but he’s still very weak. Listen, Pat, there’s something I have to tell you.’
‘What?’
‘You know I went to see Dad yesterday . . .’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t say much. Just that they was looking after him all right.’
‘I don’t want to upset you or Frank. But seeing as Frank is better today, I had to tell him the truth. Our dad had a relapse, a stroke, that has set him back quite a bit.’
Pat stood still, his young face bewildered. ‘A stroke! But he’s got TB. People can’t get both, can they?’
‘Yes, in a way they are related. It’s to do with the stress on the body, Dr Shaw said. Dad’s very low, what with the seizures and everything.’
‘Has he stopped spitting up blood?’
‘I didn’t see any.’ She didn’t want to say just how poorly their father looked. Pat wanted hope. She couldn’t take that away.
‘That’s a good sign then, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Now go in and see Frank.’
He was going to ask more, but she pushed him gently into the passage. ‘Go on, your brother is waiting to see you.’
Birdie heard his cry of delight when he saw Frank. And when Harry followed not ten minutes later, he, too, hurried to the parlour. As she went about her chores, she found herself imagining that Wilfred was in there too, reunited with his family, and the grievances of the past had all been forgotten. She would hold the picture in her mind of him looking well and happy again, and hope that wish came true.
‘One day I was told to load these boxes that were bloody heavy,’ Frank said hoarsely that night as they gathered together in the front room by the fire. ‘They come off a Russian ship and, on the quiet, I had a gander inside. The moment I saw it, I knew it was explosives. Felt a right twelve-inch rule, didn’t I? So I tried to make a break for it, but Erik, the bugger, caught me and shut me up in that pigsty. She came each day, trying to persuade me . . .’ Frank swallowed hard and looked into the fire, ‘but when I wouldn’t play along, then came the rough stuff.’
‘Oh, the devil-woman!’ Birdie felt anger prickle every part of her body.
‘Got to give it to her, though,’ Frank said with a sigh, ‘she had me on a piece of string up till then.’
‘Did you know they tried to take Birdie?’ Pat asked.
Frank looked shocked. ‘No, I bloody didn’t.’
‘It was Harry that stopped them.’
‘I owe you a lot, mate,’ Frank replied, turning to Harry. ‘And you didn’t know who I was from Adam. And I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you lot running into the yard, your mates with their shovels flyin’ everywhere and that big bastard on fire, screaming at the top of his voice. I thought I was seeing things. But then you and Pat was dragging me down from the wagon and I thought, blimey, my prayers have been answered!’
‘But alas,’ Harry muttered, ‘we were too late to stop her.’
‘She can handle that wagon as good as any bloke,’ Frank nodded, his face dark and drawn.
Birdie knew that although no one said it aloud, they were all wondering what or who she would harm next.
‘What do we do now?’ Pat asked. ‘What if the law comes round?’
Harry sat forward, his elbows resting heavily on his knees. ‘As soon as you feel up to it, Frank, you could come down to the airey. They wouldn’t look there. They’ve searched the place thoroughly already and they know I only rent the rooms.’
‘You sure, mate?’ Frank asked. ‘What if they catch you helping me?
‘I’ll take that chance.’
‘I won’t stay long. I’ve got to get across the Channel.’
Birdie looked at Harry. Did he think, too, that Frank’s idea was just a pipe dream? How would he ever do that without being caught?
‘Frank, you have to get better, first.’
‘Yeah, I know. And there’s something else I want to do.’
‘What?’
He rested his head back on the pillow and sighed. ‘Before I leave, I’ve got to see Dad and tell him my side of the story. I’ve got to . . . somehow, I’ve got to . . .’ Frank’s head dropped to one side and a loud snore rippled through the room.
Birdie gently pulled the cover over him, and Pat and Harry quietly left the room, closing the door softly behind them.
In the glow of the fire, she returned to sit in Wilfred’s chair, watching over her brother as, for the first time since his rescue, he slept peacefully. The sharp lines of his face reflected the anguish he had suffered. If only their father would forgive him! But in her heart she knew that it was as unlikely to happen as was Frank’s dream of being a free man again.
Chapter 40
The next day, Frank got up and dressed. ‘Me stomach feels like it’s not seen food for years,’ he said as he hungrily ate the last of the bread in the cupboard.
‘I must do some shopping at the market,’ Birdie murmured, reflecting that it was now possible, with Frank being on the mend, that
he could eat her out of house and home.
‘You go, gel. But I’ve got no money to give you.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got some of Lady Annabelle’s money left. She paid me for her party frock, one that she’s going to wear at Easter. But I’ve yet to deliver it.’
‘Don’t mind me, Birdie. I’ll make meself at home.’
Birdie smiled. ‘It’s just like the old days.’
‘Yer, I could get used to this.’
Birdie felt sad. How Frank must have missed his home. Even now, his future was in jeopardy. Could he really clear his name? He was in limbo and they both knew it.
‘Don’t answer the door when I’m gone,’ Birdie instructed as she put on her coat. ‘Or go outside. Ma Jenkins is always on the lookout.’
Frank laughed. ‘She ain’t changed, then. Always was an old gasbag.’
Though Birdie didn’t really want to leave Frank alone, she also wanted to deliver Lady Annabelle’s frock, the final adjustments now neatly done. It was an opportunity she might not get again before Easter. Placing the frock over her arm under a clean cloth and bidding Frank goodbye, she set off for Hailing House.
‘Come in, love,’ Mrs Belcher greeted her when Birdie arrived, her cheeks glowing red with the brisk walk. ‘Is the dress ready?’
‘Yes.’ Birdie placed it over the chair, lifting the cloth and arranging the folds.
‘Oh,’ gasped Mrs Belcher. ‘Lady Annabelle’ll turn a few heads in that. I’ll go and call her.’
‘Is she here?’ Birdie asked in surprise as she warmed her hands by the stove.
‘There’s a lot going on, love, at this time of year,’ Mrs Belcher reminded her. ‘We’ve got the council nurse coming to look at the poor blighters who attend the soup kitchens. They’ve got to be deloused, or else the walls of the House will be running alive with vermin. Then the ladies are kitting out all the homeless with new clothes after the winter. We’ll have to burn most of the cast-offs, mind, and, as I told you, there’s a pile of stuff over there from the Sally Army for you to work on.’
Birdie admired the ladies so much. Easter was the beginning of a very busy year for the charity. After the long winter, the poor and homeless who had survived the winter were the first to be put under the council’s scrutiny.
‘I’ll just go and let her know you’re here.’
When Lady Annabelle appeared, she pulled Birdie into a warm embrace. ‘I’m so glad to see you. What, no Harry?’
‘He’s at work.’ Birdie blushed. ‘And anyway, he’s got other things to do.’
Lady Annabelle grinned but made no reply as they all sat in the big, friendly kitchen and Mrs Belcher served tea. ‘Now, is that my frock?’
‘Yes, it’s all done.’ Birdie removed the cloth again.
‘Oh!’ There were gasps all round. Lady Annabelle put it against her.
‘Yes, that’s looks better,’ Birdie nodded, very pleased to see the hem was straight and the little pleat made just the right shape.
Lady Annabelle hugged it to her. ‘Thank you so much. I can’t wait to wear it.’
‘I hope it’s a wonderful party.’
Lady Annabelle smiled as she sat down. ‘Now tell me what’s happened in your life,’ she insisted, as Mrs Belcher lowered the hot scones to the table. ‘After reading about the shop fire in Poplar I asked Mrs Belcher to call on you. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘No, it was very nice of you, Lady Annabelle.’
‘She assured me you were in the best of health, but that your father has been taken ill?’
‘Yes, he’s in the isolation hospital at New Cross. The doctor found out he had TB. And since I saw Mrs Belcher, he’s had a stroke too.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
‘They’re doing all they can for him.’
‘Poor soul,’ Mrs Belcher commiserated. ‘Can he speak, ducks?’ The housekeeper sighed heavily as she buttered the scones and set a pot of jam beside them.
‘He was trying to, though he began to cough.’ Birdie glanced at the big wooden clock on the wall. Time was ticking by. Although it was nice to be sitting here, enjoying tea and scones with Lady Annabelle and Mrs Belcher, she was thinking of Frank. Was he safe to be left alone?
Lady Annabelle looked concerned, her big grey eyes creasing at the corners as she frowned. ‘I was very sorry to read of the fire. But very relieved when Mrs Belcher told me you had not been involved.’
‘I don’t think me future is in the shop,’ Birdie announced. ‘Don and me have decided to part.’
Lady Annabelle discreetly touched the corners of her mouth with her white napkin. ‘Well, as you can see by the amount of work we have put aside, over there – ‘she pointed to two large bags stowed by the hearth – ‘there is enough to keep those clever fingers of yours active for simply ages. And if you are happy to take what’s there, and since we haven’t the assistance of that very nice young man who brought you last time –’ she gave a mischievous smile – ‘then James, our chauffeur, will take you home.’ She added very quickly, ‘Birdie, may I tell all my friends who made this lovely dress?’
Again Birdie blushed.
‘I hope you haven’t forgotten the suggestion I made,’ Lady Annabelle said before she could answer. ‘I would be very pleased to bring one or two of them round to you, to discuss the matter.’
Birdie’s thoughts flew to Frank. She couldn’t have anyone come to the house, not whilst he was there. ‘I’m afraid I can’t at the moment . . . er . . . with Dad so ill and needing visits.’
‘Of course, but perhaps when he’s recovered.’
Birdie was about to leave when Lady Annabelle took her arm. ‘What news, if any, of Francis?’
Birdie gazed into the young woman’s gentle, refined eyes. How could she even begin to explain what had happened?
‘Not a thing in the paper,’ interrupted Mrs Belcher, and when Birdie looked at her she caught a little twitch of her eye.
‘Well, keep up your spirits, Birdie,’ Lady Annabelle said kindly. ‘Now, I shall find James and have him take you home. Again, thank you for such a beautiful creation.’ She smiled, adjusting her fine, soft woollen sleeves of the expensive jacket she wore. Leaning forward, she kissed Birdie’s cheek.
‘She’s very fond of you, ducks,’ Mrs Belcher remarked when they were alone.
‘And I’m fond of her.’ Birdie felt the familiar guilt weighing her down. Lady Annabelle was always so kind and caring. What would she say if she knew the truth?
Mrs Belcher opened the back door. ‘It’s chilly but spring is on the way. Now, I’ve some nice fresh vegetables in this bag and a chicken that I was going to roast for the ladies, but they decided they are going to eat up West tonight. Lady Annabelle told me to take it home and make use of it, but I’ve already got a nice bit of beef for tomorrow. Now let’s get those bags aboard.’
When at last Birdie was ready to leave, Mrs Belcher hugged her. ‘Don’t forget what I said when I came round, ducks, will you? There’s ways and means, remember?’
Birdie looked into her eyes. What was she trying to say? But all too soon, James, in his smart uniform was waiting with the car door open, and the moment passed.
That night, Birdie cooked the chicken for supper. It had tasted delicious with Mrs Belcher’s fresh vegetables. And there was enough to see them through to next week, if she did a little bubble and squeak. Frank was very thin, but he ate all he was given. As they enjoyed the meal, Birdie wondered if he would speak more about Inga. Last night he had woken and called out. Birdie never heard him say Inga’s name, but he was trying to warn someone. She still wasn’t convinced this woman was out of his thoughts.
Harry and Pat scoured the newspapers afterwards, hoping to read an article that would shed light on Inga and Erik’s activities. Eventually Harry read out, ‘Last night, close to number ten Downing Street, the peace was broken by an explosion. One policeman was injured and a man’s remains were found in the debris of the horseless wagon. Evidence found at the s
cene suggests this is the work of a disparate Russian group, protesting against the withdrawal of Allied forces from Russia.’
‘They pretended they was my friends,’ Frank nodded slowly. ‘But I know they only wanted someone to blame for their crimes.’
‘What happened to Erik that night?’ Birdie asked curiously.
‘No one saw him,’ Pat answered after a while. ‘They all scarpered.’
‘Could it be Erik they found?’
Once again, everyone looked at Frank. He was the only one who knew Inga well enough to know if she would kill one of her own for the sake of their cause.
But if Frank guessed the answer to that, Birdie decided, he wasn’t about to say. And she was beginning to believe that Inga’s hold on him was still just as strong as ever. She had come to the conclusion that he had fallen for the Russian woman in a big way. Perhaps she had told him that she was in love with him and convinced him they had a life together. Even though Frank now knew this to be false, his broken heart found it hard to accept the truth.
‘It might be safer if Frank moves down in the airey with me without delay,’ said Harry, breaking into Birdie’s thoughts. ‘Just until we decide what to do.’ He glanced at Birdie. ‘If that copper comes round again, you’d be able to open the door without any worry. Or if anyone calls, you can carry on as normal. Otherwise you’ll be jumping at every knock.’
Birdie looked at her brother. ‘What do you think, Frank?’
‘I reckon that’s best,’ he nodded. ‘I don’t want no trouble for you, Birdie, or Pat.’
‘I can come down and see you after work,’ said Pat eagerly.
Frank grinned. ‘I’ll be a man of leisure for a while.’
Birdie knew he was trying to make the best of things – they all were. But he had only just come home and she didn’t want him to leave so soon.
Much later that evening, Birdie stood beside Frank and Harry. Her heart squeezed tightly. She was saying goodbye to her brother once more. Though Harry had promised to look after him, she felt as though the family was being divided again.
‘Pat’s downstairs waiting to welcome him,’ Harry reassured her as he picked up the bag of Frank’s few possessions. ‘We’ll go out the back alley and nip round to the airey steps. I’ll go first and give Frank the all clear. But it’s Saturday and we’ve waited for the pubs to turn out. We ain’t gonna be spotted at this time of night.’