Pack Up Your Troubles

by Pam Weaver

  ‘Oh Eva, I’d be thrilled.’ Connie paused. ‘It looks like your romance won’t be the only secret out in the open at last.’

  They spent the rest of the journey talking about Emmett and his wife and Connie’s visit to Kenneth the day before. The one person they didn’t talk about was Roger. Every time Connie went into Eva’s room, she’d look at the photograph of Roger she kept on her dressing table. It wasn’t very big, and Roger was standing a long way from the camera, but Connie’s eye was always drawn to it. She had to be careful Eva didn’t see her looking, because she didn’t want to give her ideas. In the end Connie had to ask. ‘How’s Roger?’ she said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

  Eva grinned knowingly.

  ‘Only asking,’ Connie said quickly. Because Roger hadn’t written for some time, Connie found herself thinking about him all the time. She’d started worrying that something may have happened to him. Had he been injured by a bomb? Had he been … no, if he had, Eva would have told her. Eva seemed unconcerned about her brother but Connie knew they wrote to each other at least once a week, so he must be all right. She didn’t want Eva jumping to conclusions. Roger was a friend.

  ‘He’s doing some sort of training course,’ said Eva. ‘They have to keep up-to-date with things. One of his mates was killed last week.’

  So that was why he hadn’t written. The revelation hit Connie hard. Roger was a nice man. She hated the idea that his life was in danger all the time.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Eva asked. ‘You look a bit pale.’

  ‘How can you stay so calm about it?’ Connie accused.

  Eva gave her a long hard stare. ‘Years of practice but inside I’m screaming.’

  They were sitting opposite each other and as her friend turned her head to look out of the window, Connie moved to sit next to her and hold her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was being crass and stupid. It must be hell for you.’

  ‘And you?’ said Eva.

  ‘I don’t want to think of him that way,’ said Connie. ‘He’s just a friend. I’m done with men.’

  ‘Oh, Connie …’

  ‘I mean it. I was so wrong about Emmett.’

  ‘There’s plenty more fish in the sea,’ said Eva.

  ‘Now you sound like my mother,’ said Connie, resuming her usual seat.

  *

  Stan had put it off long enough. It hadn’t come as a shock this time. He’d had the clap before but this time he was frustrated. That slut had virtually offered herself to him. If he hadn’t been so weak this would never have happened. It didn’t take much to work out who had given it to him this time. He smiled grimly. She wouldn’t be giving it to some other mug; he’d make sure of that. She’d looked so young that he’d felt sure he was the first but she obviously wasn’t as unsullied as he’d thought. It was unfortunate that he’d had to go to his mother’s doctor, but there was no alternative. Still, the man was close to retirement, and he still knew his stuff. Of course, he had insisted that he hadn’t been with anyone.

  ‘It must have been on the lavatory seat. Those public toilets down by the seafront leave a lot to be desired,’ he’d said and the doctor didn’t argue. He knew and the doctor knew he was talking out of the back of his head, but so long as his mother never found out, he didn’t care. It began with an itch, but as soon as the discharge came, he knew what it was. Damn it and he’d been so careful. He’d never liked going to one of those tarts, but there were times when the need was so strong and no one else was available. He didn’t want to wear a rubber and the girl had looked very young. She’d looked cute in that gym slip. His mouth tightened. Next time he’d put something over her mouth. Not that there would be a next time. He couldn’t stand women prattling away all the time. He had enough of that from his mother. She never shut up.

  ‘Venereal disease is much easier to treat these days,’ the doctor told him.

  He was glad. The last time he’d had a dose of the clap, he was in hospital and had to miss the whole of the VE celebrations because by then he was on his third day of treatment. Thirty-four grams of sulfathiazole by injection over a period of five days. It was bloody painful but it had done the trick.

  According to the doc, the VD clinic was at the back of the hospital and down a lane. Apparently, they were very careful about privacy and made sure that no one would be able to see him arriving or identify him. It was open Monday, Wednesday and Friday evening and from nine till noon on Thursday. He decided to go as soon as possible.

  Twenty-Two

  Chichester was wonderful. Connie and Eva strolled around the shops for a while and in among the market stalls. They had decided to make a day of it and although there was little money to spend, she and Eva enjoyed browsing.

  ‘Connie!’

  Connie spun round when she heard the voice and a second later, a bemused Eva looked on as Connie and Kez hugged and danced with each other in the middle of the pavement.

  She was selling lovely handmade dollies’ clothes, beautifully crafted wooden trains, rattles and rockers. Connie could see Simeon’s amazing talent straight away. They browsed among the things and Connie bought Mandy some lovely wall-mounted letters which spelt her name. There was a peg on the ‘a’ so she could hang her dressing gown up if she wanted. Connie loved the bright jazzy colours. After living for so long with dull browns and creams and woodland green, it was so much fun to see reds and yellows and bright blues. Connie wondered where Simeon had found them but the market stall was so busy, there was hardly any time to speak to Kez.

  ‘Where are you camped?’

  ‘We’re keréngro now,’ Kez beamed in between customers. ‘Simeon bought a piece of land over Slinden way and we’ve got our trailer there. My kids can go to school and learn to read.’

  ‘These things are fantastic,’ said Eva after Connie introduced them. ‘I’m sure you’ll do a roaring trade.’

  Kez was wrapping another sale in newspaper. ‘She is already!’ laughed Connie.

  ‘Simeon is talking about getting a shop,’ Kez told them during another brief lull. ‘He’s talking with the bank mush right now.’

  Another customer interrupted them, giving Connie another chance to admire more stock, some lovely skittles and a small train.

  ‘Does Simeon make all of these?’ Connie asked.

  ‘He makes the wooden stuff,’ said Kez. ‘I dress the dollies.’

  ‘Where are your kids?’ said Connie, looking around.

  ‘Pen looks after them while I works,’ said Kez.

  ‘You look like a real business woman,’ Connie laughed.

  ‘Thanks to you helping me to read,’ said Kez, giving her arm a grateful squeeze.

  Eva wandered off to the next stall. ‘Have you heard from Isaac?’ Connie asked. Kez shook her head.

  ‘His time must be up soon.’

  Kez sold a toy farmhouse and wrapped it in newspaper. As she put the money in her pouch, she sighed. ‘He should be out in a week or so,’ she said. ‘We went up to Portsmouth, but he didn’t want us to see him.’

  ‘He must be very angry and upset,’ Connie remarked.

  ‘’Course he is, ’cos he never done it,’ said Kez fiercely. ‘Isaac is a lot of things, but he ain’t no liar. If he says he never took the stuff, then he never.’

  ‘Clifford told me they found the stuff in his caravan,’ Connie said cautiously.

  ‘And that’s another thing,’ said Kez. ‘That weren’t his caravan. They found it in Reuben’s caravan.’

  She moved to serve someone else leaving Connie to digest what she had said. She hadn’t really thought about it before but Kez was right. Isaac slept behind the hedge in his own tent. In recent times he had progressed into a small touring caravan dating back to the 1930s. It wasn’t at all like Reuben’s traditional gypsy caravan. It was a bit battered but he was doing it up. He also had a small lorry which was why he’d been learning about motors. Connie frowned. Having seen how independent the gypsies were, there was no reason for Isaa
c to put his stuff in his father’s caravan. What was the point? Reuben was on his last legs and Isaac would have known that when the old man died, everything would go up in smoke, so why hide valuable booty there? Of course he had no idea when the old man would die, but it would be one hell of a risk, wouldn’t it?

  ‘Did your dad have a lot of money?’ Connie asked.

  Kez shrugged.

  ‘You said Simeon has gone to the bank,’ Connie persisted. ‘Did Reuben have a bank account?’

  ‘You know Reuben never trusted Gorgia,’ said Kez. ‘If he had money, he hid it somewhere.’

  Connie looked away with a frown. Like under the floorboards of his caravan, for instance? With no one around to direct them (Isaac in jail and Reuben too ill to protest) the police had searched the wrong caravan, hadn’t they. The money they’d found was Reuben’s and somebody must have planted the missing jewellery in his caravan thinking that’s where Isaac lived as well. So Isaac was innocent after all. She didn’t like him all that much, but nobody deserved to be framed for something they didn’t do. The revelation left Connie with more pressing questions. Who could have done it and why?

  ‘Ready to move?’ Eva cut across Connie’s thoughts and she nodded. Kez was dealing with a steady stream of customers anyway. She called her goodbyes and Kez gave her the thumbs up. Connie was upset but there was little point in making waves now. Isaac would be out of prison soon.

  ‘Fancy going to the pictures before we catch the bus back?’ said Eva.

  ‘Why not?’ said Connie breaking into a trot. ‘Race you there.’

  ‘How do you test the patient’s urine for sugar, nurse?’

  It was two days later and Connie was doing her best to appear calm and controlled while shaking in her shoes. Matron always made her feel inadequate and she hated it. She couldn’t forget the white glove incident in Room 1. Connie had been so sure she had cleaned every speck of dirt from that room and when she went back, she couldn’t find any other smudges similar to the black on Matron’s glove, so how come she had missed it? It was a complete mystery.

  ‘Come along, nurse, speak up,’ said Matron tetchily.

  ‘Um …’ Connie hesitated. ‘I pour 5cc of Bendict’s solution into the test tube and add …’ The words died on Connie’s lips because she could see by Matron’s expression that she’d said something wrong. What had she said? ‘Umm, 5cc of Benni …’

  Behind Matron’s head she could see Betty mouthing Ben-e-dick.

  ‘I mean Beniprick solution …’ Connie began again.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, nurse, you have been here long enough to know this,’ came the reply. ‘This should be routine by now.’

  ‘Yes, Matron.’ Connie could feel her face flaming.

  ‘Routine!’ said Matron turning on her heel.

  Aggie relaxed deep into the armchair. It wasn’t very often that she and Olive had the place to themselves but today the rest of the family was out. Clifford had gone up to London. Aggie didn’t know why but she was sure Olive would get around to telling her. It was the second time he’d been up there on business in as many weeks. Her thoughts clouded. She hoped he wasn’t pretending to be working when all the time he was running around with some floozy.

  Gwen had gone to school to see Mandy dancing around the maypole as part of the school summer fete. There had been great excitement this year because she was one of the children chosen but numbers were restricted to one parent so Olive wasn’t invited. Not that she would mind, of course. Her friend ignored children unless they were doing something they shouldn’t.

  Left alone while Olive was in the kitchen getting the tea things, Aggie stood up to admire Olive’s nice ornaments and pretty pictures. She wouldn’t dream of touching anything of course, that would be deemed as nosy, but looking was all right. Aggie kept her own home fairly plain. It cut down on the dusting. With no birthday or Christmas cards to catch her attention, Aggie satisfied her curiosity by looking at the bookshelf and trying to make up her mind which family member had chosen which book. Mandy was the easy one with a well-thumbed copy of Enid Blyton’s book Five on a Treasure Island. There was a C.S. Forester book about Lord Hornblower which Aggie guessed belonged to Clifford and another called The Egg and I by Betty MacDonald which, because it was about the wife of a chicken farmer, Aggie supposed belonged to Gwen.

  As she turned to sit down, she noticed that Olive had been writing letters. The bureau was open and Aggie gazed longingly at the paper rack. She remembered a time before the war when Olive had paid the absolute earth for some pretty sheets of creamy paper with a watermark. At the time, although Olive had given her a couple of sheets, Aggie had thought she was quite mad but now she was of the opinion that in these austere times the paper added a little distinction to a letter. There wasn’t much left now. With one ear open for the sound of the tea trolley, Aggie thumbed through the pile of letters waiting to be posted. Nothing of interest except for one addressed to Sally Burndell. Why would Olive be writing to her?

  By the time the rattling tea trolley came into the room, Aggie was sitting in the armchair just as Olive left her.

  ‘I’ve made some sardine sandwiches,’ said Olive as she backed through the door pulling the trolley behind her.

  ‘Oooh, lovely,’ said Aggie although she couldn’t stand sardines.

  She had the toaster from the kitchen and bending to put it in the hearth, slipped in a couple of crumpets. Aggie licked her lips. The crumpets were delicious eaten with butter and some of Gwen’s homemade greengage jam.

  ‘Of course, you’ve heard about Sally,’ said Olive handing her a plate.

  ‘What’s she done now?’ Aggie took a bite of her sandwich.

  ‘She’s getting married.’

  ‘No!’ Aggie took a sip of tea to swill away the taste. ‘Well, that’s a turn up for the books. I thought you said her gentleman friend didn’t want her.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Olive matter-of-factly. ‘I can’t keep up with her. First it’s on, then it’s off. Then she’s going to be a secretary and then she’s not. Next she’s free to work in the shop and now she’s not.’

  Aggie frowned. ‘Her poor mother must be at her wits’ end.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Ga continued, ‘she hasn’t bothered to send us an invitation to the wedding.’

  They sipped tea, each left to her own thoughts.

  ‘I was looking in your bookcase,’ Aggie eventually confessed. ‘Mandy must enjoy reading. I noticed Five on a Treasure Island …’

  ‘Oh, that’s Connie’s,’ said Olive. ‘She picked it up in a jumble sale. I think she’s read it to Mandy but it’s a bit old for her yet.’ Olive stood up and went to the bookcase. ‘This is my favourite,’ she said pulling down The Egg and I. ‘It’s so funny. I love it. Have you read it?’

  ‘No,’ said Aggie feeling a bit miffed. ‘I don’t get much time to read.’

  ‘I’m sure they’re up to something again,’ said Olive. She took Aggie’s cup and emptied the dregs into the slop bowl before pouring her another cup of tea.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The family. There’s a lot of whispering and Clifford is always writing letters.’

  ‘Maybe they’re planning something nice for the summer holidays?’ Aggie suggested.

  Olive gave her a withering look. ‘I don’t think so. That Clifford always was a devious one. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.’

  ‘And after all you’ve done for them,’ Aggie tut-tutted sadly. ‘I don’t know why you put up with it, dear.’

  ‘What choice do I have?’ said Olive sourly. ‘Give him his due, he is a good worker.’ She sighed. ‘We’d get along just fine if he wasn’t always trying to change things.’ She pointed to her friend’s chin and Aggie wiped away some melted butter with her napkin.

  ‘Perhaps you should just come out with it and ask them what they’re up to?’

  ‘I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.’

  ‘What about Connie?’ said A
ggie. ‘Couldn’t you have a word with her?’

  ‘Constance!’ Olive snapped. ‘That little minx. She’d only stick up for Clifford, wouldn’t she. I still can’t bring myself to forgive her for running out on us like that when she left the WAAFs.’

  ‘I think it’s terrible the way they treat you,’ said Aggie. ‘Especially when you’ve been so good to them.’

  Ga smiled bravely. ‘Have another crumpet, dear.’

  This was Connie’s first Saturday off for some time but it meant that she was lucky enough to help with the church jumble sale. The church held several jumble sales during the year. They were a good way of raising funds for the building they hoped to have one day. Connie loved them and collecting jumble could be just as much fun as the event itself. Connie’s duties at the hospital had stopped her from taking part in that, but as soon as she’d heard Connie was free on the day, Jane Jackson didn’t waste time in asking her to help. Connie was at the hired hall in Mulberry Lane by half past seven.

  ‘Glad you could make it,’ said Jane, giving her arm a squeeze.

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ smiled Connie.

  ‘Have you heard about Sally …?’ Jane began.

  Connie held her breath. Not more bad news?

  ‘Terry turned up,’ said Jane. ‘It’s all on again and they’ve even set a wedding date.’

  Connie grinned. ‘Oh Jane, that’s wonderful news!’

  ‘It certainly is,’ said Jane. ‘Her mother is looking a bit bewildered but everybody is thrilled of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Connie. She was so glad for Sally. The poor kid had had such a rough time and Terry had looked a decent sort. She’d drop her a line to congratulate her when she got back home. ‘Jane, I’ve brought Mandy along too.’

  Connie’s sister stood beside her beaming.

  ‘Hello Mandy,’ smiled Jane. ‘You can help with the children’s toys, if you like.’

  The arrangements were almost always the same. The men would put a line of trestle tables along each side of the church hall, and some more tables in front of the stage. Books and children’s toys were on the left-hand side near the door with women’s clothing on the next two tables. The bric-a-brac was always on the end tables with any big items like an old pram or washstand on the stage itself. On the other side of the hall the tables were divided in two halves with shoes and handbags on a small table just before the hatch where teas and coffees were served from the kitchen, and then the other side of the hatch the tables were for men’s clothes – not so many of those.