by Carol Rivers
‘Poor sod.’
‘I’ll write to the Denhams tonight.’
‘What you gonna say to them?’ asked Cissy.
‘I’ll think of something. I’ve got their address in the drawer.’
Cissy folded her arms and frowned. ‘It’s a bit of a tall order getting you to write to them.’
‘I don’t suppose there’s anyone else to ask.’ Molly added lightly, ‘Besides, Andy could be worrying for nothing. Gert might be better by now.’
After the shop had closed that evening, Molly sat in the kitchen. It took her a long while to compose a satisfactory letter. She didn’t want to sound interfering. After all, these were Andy’s best friends and they had known the children all their lives. So she said she hoped they were all well and were the children enjoying the seaside? She mentioned that Andy had written and hoped Betty would write back with all their news as she missed the children’s company.
Other than asking outright if Gert had recovered, which might make her seem like a busybody, it was, she decided, the best she could do.
That night as she lay in bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about Mark and Evie. And how helpless Andy must feel. She was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she jumped when Nibbles barked downstairs.
‘Is everything all right?’ she called, after throwing on her dressing gown and rushing to stand on the landing.
‘Good as gold, missus,’ he yelled back. ‘Sorry to wake yer.’
‘Are you comfy on that old chair?’ Molly heard the creak of its rusty springs.
‘Yeah, just having a fag.’
Too wakeful to sleep, Molly returned to the kitchen. She sat at the table and reread Andy’s letter.
Could he be worrying for nothing? Being on board ship with the constant threat of enemy attack must be terrifying. Perhaps his thoughts were in turmoil; his children meant everything to him. But she was sure he would never have troubled her unless it was important.
Molly slid the letter back into the envelope. She couldn’t write to him until she’d heard from Betty.
She hoped Betty would reply very soon with better news. Then she could set Andy’s mind – and her own – at rest.
It was a misty November morning a week later when Detective Constable Longman walked into the shop. As usual, he was dressed in his unmistakable policeman’s uniform, a trilby pulled down over his eyes and a belted raincoat. She hadn’t seen him since the summer when he had stopped by to give her Betty and Len’s address.
‘Hello, Mrs Swift.’
‘Detective Constable.’ She was glad Cissy had just left on the bicycle to make the deliveries.
‘Did you have any success with that address?’
‘Yes, thank you. It was a long time ago now.’
‘July, or thereabouts. You know, I would have helped you to find these people, but I guessed I wasn’t welcome.’
Molly blushed. ‘It was a very difficult time for Andy. But he eventually found the Denhams, who took the children before he went back to his ship.’
‘I see. And . . .’ He peered over her shoulder. ‘Is Miss Brown here?’
‘No, Cissy’s on deliveries.’
The policeman brought out his notebook. ‘We had a report that you and Miss Brown were attacked outside the Roxy cinema in September.’
Molly felt her insides tighten. ‘It was nothing. A couple of chancers.’
‘Like those who broke into your shop?’
Molly knew she was being questioned. ‘What’s this all about?’ she demanded. ‘We didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘I didn’t say you did. But you see, after the report was made by the constables, it went through our vetting channels. We do this to help us identify possible threats to public safety in wartime. And in this case we eventually identified some inconsistencies.’
Molly half laughed. ‘What inconsistencies?’
‘Did you know Miss Brown has been in prison? That she has a history of petty thieving and prostitution?’
Molly had a sinking sensation. She tried to think how to reply, as the bobby studied her carefully for her reaction. ‘I know,’ Molly replied, refusing to drop her stare.
‘You do?’
‘Cissy told me all about her past. But I believe in giving people another chance.’
‘I hope your faith is justified.’
Molly straightened her spine. ‘That’s my business.’
‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘I don’t need any, thank you.’
‘I must ask you once more,’ he said in a threatening manner. ‘Do you know the identity of these attackers?’
‘And the answer is the same.’ Molly walked past him to the shop door and opened it. ‘Goodbye, Detective Constable.’
He came slowly towards her. His eyes seemed to bore right into her head. ‘Mrs Swift, you’ve taken someone into your life who lives off their wits. Please don’t let yourself be fooled. You and your store could be at risk. I know you are a good-hearted and law-abiding person. I am trying to protect you. You have my number. Please call me if you need me.’ He kept his gaze locked with hers, then just as Molly thought she could bear it no longer, he left.
She watched as his tall figure disappeared into the mist, then gave out a long-withheld sigh that made her head swim with relief.
It was almost unbelievable! By taking a false identity, Cissy was in much more trouble than if she had kept her own name.
That night, Molly broke the news to Cissy. ‘He’s found Cissy Brown’s records,’ she explained as they sat in the front room by the fire. ‘She’d been to prison and has been in trouble with the law for petty thieving and prostitution.’
‘Oh, Gawd, I thought she worked at the flour factory.’ Cissy closed her eyes. ‘I’ll bet he came to arrest her – I mean me.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Molly said thoughtfully. ‘She might have had a record, but he didn’t try to hang around. If he wanted to arrest her, he’d have been back here by now.’
Cissy groaned loudly. ‘I knew I should have scarpered.’
‘Then they’d definitely think you were guilty of something. As it is, you’re turning over a new leaf. Just as I told them.’
‘They won’t believe that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because cons don’t break the habit of a lifetime.’
Molly looked into Cissy’s fearful gaze. ‘You ain’t a con, Cissy.’
‘I worked for Ronnie Hook though.’
‘You’ve left him and now you are you.’
Cissy put her face in her hands. ‘He’ll be back, I know it.’
‘You must keep your nerve.’
Cissy slowly looked up at her, despair on her face. ‘I don’t know if I can.’
‘I’ve got Christmas all planned, Cissy,’ Molly said, frantically searching for a reason to make Cissy stay. ‘I want to have Dad home and I’m relying on you to help me. I’ll never be able to do it on my own. You can’t let me down now. Not after all I’ve done for you.’ Molly was afraid that Cissy would disappear into the night, never to be seen again.
‘I suppose I’ll have to stay, then,’ agreed Cissy morosely.
‘Thank you.’ Molly said no more, but she was secretly ashamed to have resorted to a kind of emotional blackmail. But Cissy knew how very important it was to her that Bill should come home for Christmas.
Chapter Seventeen
It was the beginning of December when at last a letter arrived from Betty. And it was not what Molly expected to hear.
Molly,
My dear sister Gert passed away just before your letter arrived. She’s not been too good, you see. Then one day she was gone. It was a rotten shock. Now me and Len are moving out tomorrow, as we can’t afford the rent. I’m not the the ticket myself and me legs are up like balloons. What with one thing and another, it’s been a bit difficult. Looks like we’ll have to evacuate again. The Army are taking us as far as the London Road, Romford, where we’re told we’ll be s
ent up country. Don’t know about the kids yet. They might have to go somewhere else. Sorry I can’t tell you more.
Regards, Betty Denham
‘Gert’s dead?’ Cissy asked after reading the letter. ‘They’re on the move again?’
Molly nodded. ‘She doesn’t know what’s going to happen to the kids. What am I gonna do?’
Cissy was quiet, then slapped her hands on her hips. ‘You’ll have to get ’em back.’
‘But how?’
‘Romford ain’t as far as Southend. Go there and sort ’em out.’
‘But this letter was written nearly two weeks ago. What if they’ve all been moved on from Romford?’
‘You’ll have to take the chance.’
Molly put the envelope on the counter. ‘I don’t even know if there’s any buses. So many are out of commission.’
‘What about asking Den to drive you in that van of his?’
‘He’s not allowed to use it any more, so Jean said. As the raids have slowed down, the ARP have tightened up on petrol.’
‘Well, it looks like a bus, then.’
‘I haven’t even got a proper address in Romford. Just the London Road.’
‘You can’t go far wrong if you ask for the Sally Army.’ Cissy came over, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘You know you’ve got to do it. Or else Andy is going to lose them kids.’
‘I can’t bear to think of that.’
‘Listen, why don’t you go tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?’ Molly repeated.
‘I’ll ask Spot if he’ll stay with me Saturday. Then you won’t fret I’m on me own. Let’s face it, as well intentioned as Betty might be, she’s having enough trouble looking after herself and Len, let alone the kids.’
‘What if something happens? What if I can’t get back tomorrow night? What if I can’t even find them?’
‘I know there’s a lot of ifs and buts and neither of us know how it’ll turn out. But at least you’ll have tried.’
Molly knew Cissy was right. She had to act fast. But would she find a bus going to Romford? She had to leave some cash in the till for Cissy. Would there be enough spare for the fare for the journey? It was expensive to travel. Even if there were sufficient funds, the Denhams and Evie and Mark might have already left Romford.
Molly paused for a few seconds, then hurried off to the kitchen. She lifted the floorboard and took three pounds for her purse. She didn’t like borrowing from her dad’s savings again.
But this was an emergency.
Early on Saturday morning, Molly set off for Poplar and the bus depot. The street vendors were out, and a little traffic, and one or two buses emerged from the temporary shelter. She called at the evacuation point first, recalling the day she had taken the children from Andy before he went back to sea. Now she was searching for them again – only this time, the area was deserted.
How would she get to Romford if there was no transport? And even if she did, she had no proper address.
Molly sat down on the bench by the bus stop, undoing the two top buttons of her coat. Her warm breath funnelled white into the cold morning air. Would Cissy be safe in her absence? Could Spot be relied upon? What could one man do if Ronnie Hook’s men appeared?
Just then a coach pulled up on the other side of the road and she watched the driver climb out, talking to the conductor who was enjoying a smoke.
Molly hurried over to them.
‘Hello, love,’ one of them said. ‘You’re an early bird.’
‘Are you going anywhere near Romford?’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I need to go there today.’
‘Well, you’re out of luck with us,’ said the driver, adjusting his peaked cap. ‘We’re going west.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘In the opposite direction to where you want to go.’
‘Do you know if I can catch another bus or coach? It’s very important I get there.’
The driver looked at the conductor. ‘In about half an hour there’s some Specials arriving. Dunno if one of them’s going near Romford.’
‘There’s one going to the Dagenham factories,’ the conductor nodded. ‘You could catch that, then change for Rush Green.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘How long’s a piece of string? With holes in the roads and diversions, could be all day.’
‘Where do I wait for this Special?’
‘Behind the cafe. I should get yerself a drink an’ all. Could be a long wait.’
It was a long wait. Molly had drunk two cups of tea at the temporary hut used as a cafe and had paced the pavement until she felt she had worn a hole in the stones. When the bus arrived, marked SPECIAL and underneath, the word DAGENHAM, she boarded along with a lot of other people who were talking about their work at the factories.
She sat on the back seat and paid her fare, grateful that she had brought Dad’s money in case of emergencies. What those emergencies might be, she didn’t know. But if she had to catch a train or even a taxi for part of the journey, then she could at least pay her way.
The bus started up and chugged along through the streets of the East End to join the Newham Way leading out of London. She gazed out of the filthy window. This journey could be a wild goose chase. Meanwhile, Cissy and the shop were exposed and vulnerable. There was Spot, of course, but what if—?
Molly shook her head. She mustn’t let her imagination run riot. As the bus trundled on, the slow swaying soothed her. The countryside looked misty but green. The little houses and villages were so pretty in comparison to the smoky East End terraces. An occasional tractor squeezed through the narrow roads, but there was very little traffic because of the government’s restriction on petrol. She must have fallen asleep when an enormous roar made her jump.
The silence of the countryside was shattered. Everyone looked out of the windows. The driver pulled to a sharp halt. A low drone sounded menacingly in the sky. The driver shot out of his seat and, together with the conductor, shouted at the passengers to evacuate the bus.
Suddenly two low-flying aircraft zoomed down across the fields and seemed almost to touch the top of the bus. A woman screamed and there was panic as everyone tried to disembark. Molly heard the familiar rattle of machine-gun fire. There were more screams and, together with everyone else, she ran towards a long, thick hedge at the side of the road. Before they could take cover, two more aircraft flew over – but this time she saw the familiar rings painted on the sides of the Spitfires.
Heart in mouth, she was half dragged along by the driver, who was shouting at her to keep low. Molly eventually found herself in the field, flattened to the muddy ground.
‘Messerschmitts,’ yelled one man, who raised his fist. ‘Our boys are giving chase.’
The driver pushed him down. Then he almost fell into the hedge himself as the enemy aircraft engaged their guns. Bullets tore up the turf and sent grass and mud in all directions. The dogfight intensified and the noise of the planes’ engines roared above them. Molly thought of the blitz and the long nights in Jean’s Anderson shelter. She tried to burrow herself into the cold, damp earth. Perhaps the hedge would provide cover.
Folding her coat collar over her ears, she tried not to listen as the ground vibrated with bullets. Why did people want to kill each other, when life was so precious?
‘You all right, love?’
Molly opened her eyes and met the concerned gaze of the driver.
‘Y-yes, thanks.’
‘The Spits chased ’em off. You can let go of that bush now.’
Molly was helped up. Her knees rattled together. Her coat was dirty and her shoes were muddy.
‘Let’s get you all back on board,’ the driver yelled and Molly joined the line of bedraggled, frightened passengers. They were all subdued, taking their places again as the driver started the engine.
‘Well, that was a close one,’ the conductor said as he looked down the aisle. ‘Is everyone all present and correc
t?’
Molly, along with everyone else, nodded.
‘Now, I’m going to show you something,’ said the conductor. ‘Take a butcher’s at this.’ He held his ticket machine aloft. ‘I chucked it on the ground as we all did a runner.’ He pointed to a neat round hole in the metal. ‘Could have been me,’ he said with a grin. ‘Or any one of us, come to that. But the buggers missed. We should count ourselves lucky they had such rotten aims.’
Molly and everyone else gasped. Then suddenly, as if they all realized how close a call it had been, and just how lucky they were, everyone clapped and cheered.
Molly joined in, the fear slowly ebbing away, until she found herself near to tears of relief.
‘You dopey sod,’ Cissy called reprovingly, ‘shovel the spuds in her bag, don’t try to wrap ’em.’ She tutted, watching Spot as he made their two lady customers roar with laughter by trying to contain the filthy potatoes in a single sheet of newspaper.
Cissy found herself smiling against her will. Spot was a right joker and he knew it. The customers who’d come in today had found him as entertaining as any comic, and were appreciative of his little dog sitting on its hind legs and barking as he whistled ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’. They were cards, the pair of them.
Begrudgingly, she had to admit she liked his company. He might be a small man who rarely took off his cap and who winked with his good eye at nearly every other sentence he uttered as if letting you into a big secret, but he refused to lose that grin of his, no matter how fiercely she yelled at him.
When the shop was empty, Cissy took the broom and began to sweep up the evidence of the busy morning. Dog-ends, cabbage leaves, pieces of rubble that always seemed to arrive on the floor of the shop from outside no matter how many times she swept it. Just as she was trying to reach the knots of dust and dirt in the far corner, a hand came out and relieved her of the broom.
‘Hey! What did you do that for?’ she demanded, swinging around to face Spot.
‘With ’ands like yours, all dainty and smooth, you should give ’em a rest.’
‘I can take care of me own hands, thank you very much.’ She grabbed the broom handle and began to pull. Spot grinned and held onto it.