by Pam Weaver
‘When I walked upstairs,’ she began reluctantly, ‘Mr Oliver was there.’
Janet searched her face. ‘And?’ She continued to look at Shirley while she fumbled for the right words; then all at once the realization dawned on her face. Janet took in her breath. ‘For God’s sake, Shirley, what are you saying?’
‘I may be wrong,’ Shirley protested quickly. ‘In fact, I probably am. My mother always says I have an overactive imagination.’
They could hear angry voices outside and the dog was going crazy. Distracted, Shirley glanced towards the window.
‘Just tell me,’ Janet insisted. ‘What was he doing?’
‘I made a mistake,’ said Shirley. ‘Yes, that’s what happened. He was probably just looking into her crib, that’s all.’
‘But you think he was doing something he shouldn’t have been doing, don’t you?’
‘I couldn’t really see,’ said Shirley, ‘but when I picked her up, she was all sweaty and upset.’
‘And the pillow?’
This was making her feel very uncomfortable, but Shirley held her gaze. ‘It was on her face.’
Janet’s face went pale.
‘It could have been an accident,’ Shirley flustered. ‘I mean, he could have found it like that and have been getting it out of the way. I mean, he wouldn’t do anything to harm his own baby, would he?’
Janet began stroking the top of her daughter’s head with her thumb. ‘There’s something I haven’t told you, Shirley,’ she said. She looked up. ‘The baby isn’t his.’
The shock of what she’d just been told made Shirley feel weak at the knees, and even though it was just as loud, the sound of Mr Oliver’s angry voice outside seemed to fade. She lowered herself onto the chair opposite. ‘What?’
‘She belongs to another man,’ said Janet. There was no shame in her voice. It was strong and defiant. ‘I fell in love with a lad from the village, but he and his family emigrated to Canada. After he’d gone, I found out that I was pregnant.’ She kissed her daughter’s head. ‘Lucy isn’t Gil’s baby.’
Outside, they could hear Mr Oliver yelling, ‘Get off my land!’
Janet sighed angrily. ‘Oh no, not again.’
Mr Oliver had obviously moved closer to the house because now they could hear the more measured tone of another man’s voice. ‘Mr Oliver, this isn’t helping. I really must insist that you talk to me.’
‘Come any closer and I’ll set the bloody dog on you.’ They heard the dog yelp as he goaded it.
‘Are you shocked, Shirley?’ Janet was saying. ‘About the baby?’
Shirley shook her head. ‘A bit surprised, that’s all. So how come you . . . ?’
‘He wanted help in the milking parlour,’ said Janet. ‘I came here to work, and when he found out I was in the family way, he turned on that charm of his and offered to make an honest woman of me.’
‘So you and Mr Oliver aren’t . . . ?’
‘Good Lord, no,’ said Janet. She laughed sardonically. ‘And it didn’t take me long to work out that he’d only married me to save money.’
Shirley was puzzled.
‘As his wife, he doesn’t have to pay me,’ said Janet. ‘Tight-fisted old git. I hate him.’
Shirley blinked. This had been quite a revelation, but a lot of things fell into place now: the bed under the eaves, the people in the village preferring to whisper behind their hands rather than talk to Janet, the fact that Mr Oliver treated her more like a servant than a wife.
The racket outside continued. ‘Janet!’ Mr Oliver shouted. ‘Janet!’
Ignoring him, Janet looked up at Shirley. ‘Do you really think he was trying to smother my baby?’
Shirley nodded miserably. ‘I do now.’
Mr Oliver was shouting, ‘Janet, get out here, woman!’
‘Then I can’t stay here,’ said Janet urgently. ‘I can’t risk it.’
Shirley’s heart sank. If Janet went, she’d be on her own and at the mercy of that awful man. Tom wouldn’t be able to cope if things got much worse. He responded to encouragement, but if people got frustrated and angry with him, he clammed up. She could just imagine her brother cowering in a corner while Mr Oliver yelled at him or hit him with a stick. What was she going to do?
‘Where will you go?’ Shirley’s voice was edged with tension.
‘I don’t know,’ said Janet. ‘I’ve no money.’ She gazed lovingly at her daughter and sighed. ‘I suppose Granny Roberts might take me in, until I can work something out.’
‘But what about Tom and me?’ said Shirley. She was desperately trying to stay calm, but this was beginning to feel very scary indeed.
‘Janet, where are you, woman?’ Mr Oliver shouted again. ‘Will you get out here now!’
Janet made no attempt to move. She had more important things on her mind. Lucy was feeding nicely and she didn’t want her disturbed. ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ she said, leaning forward to grip Shirley’s hand. ‘I’ll make sure the authorities resettle you both somewhere else.’
‘But they might put Tom in a home,’ said Shirley, her eyes burning with unshed tears. ‘That is my mother’s one dread.’
They both fell silent for a second or two.
‘Maybe she’ll be better soon,’ said Janet sympathetically. ‘Then you can go back home. Things don’t always work out the way we think. Everybody was convinced that Hitler would be over here by now. Bombing in the streets, they said, but nothing’s happened. It’s probably as safe in London as it is down here.’ She sat Lucy up and rubbed her back gently.
The door burst open, bringing with it a blast of cold air, and Mr Oliver came rushing in. Shirley leapt to her feet and Janet jumped. The baby’s face crumpled. ‘Didn’t you hear me calling, you lazy mare? That man from the Ministry of Agriculture is back here again.’
They stared at each other for a second, but Janet didn’t move. ‘I know what you did,’ she said coldly. ‘Touch my baby again and I’ll see you hang.’
Mr Oliver looked taken aback but quickly recovered. ‘I haven’t got time for all that now. Didn’t you hear what I said? That bloke from the ministry is back. Where’s me gun? Get me gun, girl!’ Shirley was fixed to the spot, so he rushed over and snatched his shotgun from the corner of the kitchen where he always left it and then headed back towards the door.
‘Don’t be such a damned fool, Gil,’ Janet shouted after him, but he took no notice.
As he went back outside, they heard a voice say, ‘There’s no need for that, Mr Oliver. Put the gun down.’
‘Oh, my stars,’ cried Janet. ‘The silly old fool is going to blow somebody’s head off.’
‘He didn’t take any shot,’ said Shirley. She pointed to the box of cartridges on the dresser.
‘Quick, Shirley,’ cried Janet. ‘Hide them somewhere.’
Shirley grabbed the box and headed for the stairs. Where could she put it? When she reached the top, she looked around desperately. Apart from Janet’s single bed, the landing was bare, and there was little point in putting it in Mr Oliver’s room. It had to be hidden somewhere he wouldn’t think of looking. She was facing the door to Elizabeth’s room and remembered his threat about if she ever went in there again. Surprisingly, it wasn’t locked. Shirley burst into the room and looked around. Pulling open the bottom drawer of the dresser, she stuffed the box of cartridges inside. There was hardly anything in there to cover it, but she shoved it as far back as she could. Grabbing the baby’s shawl from the crib on the way past, she raced back downstairs. As she handed the shawl to Janet, they heard a high-pitched creaking sound behind them. Shirley took in her breath and the two of them gripped each other as the outside door slowly opened.
It was Tom. Shirley clutched at her chest. ‘Tom! You scared the life out of me.’
‘Mr Oliver is very angry, Shirl.’
‘I know, love,’ she said, soothing him like a small child. ‘He’ll be all right in a minute. You’ll see.’
‘Is it time for b
reakfast?’
She pulled out a chair and her brother sat down. Shirley cut him a piece of bread. ‘Have this for now. I’ll cook something in a minute.’ Tom smeared the bread with jam.
The standoff outside continued, with Mr Oliver now threatening to shoot the man from the ministry.
‘If he calls Gil’s bluff,’ Janet remarked, ‘he’s just as likely to set the dog on him.’
‘Is he going to shoot his gun?’ Tom said suddenly.
‘Mr Oliver doesn’t know it,’ said Shirley, reaching for the frying pan and putting it on the range, ‘but the gun isn’t loaded.’
Tom relaxed and carried on eating his bread.
Janet put Lucy onto her shoulder and began rubbing her back gently. ‘Shirley,’ she said in a whisper designed for her ears only, ‘we’re going to have to watch him like a hawk. Lucy mustn’t be left alone for one second.’
Shirley nodded. ‘Tom, could you bring Lucy’s crib downstairs for us? It feels a bit too cold for her upstairs.’
Her brother, his mouth stuffed with jammy bread, pushed back his chair and headed for the stairs.
‘I’ll go and see Granny Roberts as soon as I can,’ Janet said hurriedly. The dog had stopped barking and they heard the sound of a car engine running. ‘Sounds like he’s given up.’
‘For now,’ said Shirley.
Tom was halfway downstairs when they heard Mr Oliver scream. That was followed almost instantaneously by a loud bang as the gun went off. Janet froze, Shirley nearly jumped out of her skin, and the baby began to cry. Tom stared at his sister with a look of horror on his face and, putting down the crib, hurried to the window.
‘Careful,’ Janet cautioned.
Tom ducked, and using the curtain as a shield, tried to see what was happening.
‘Can you see anything?’ Shirley asked.
There was another loud bang and then they heard the car reversing backwards down the lane at high speed. The three of them ducked and dived by the window, but in a few minutes everything was quiet. Judging by the speed of the man from the ministry’s car, he was clearly terrified. Even the dog had gone quiet.
‘Oh Lord, he hasn’t hit that man, has he?’ said Janet. ‘I thought you said that shotgun was empty?’
‘I thought it was!’ cried Shirley. ‘He must have a secret stash of cartridges somewhere.’
‘Or maybe that bloody thing was loaded all the time,’ said Janet crossly. ‘Where did you put the box?’
‘In Elizabeth’s room,’ said Shirley.
‘I dread to think what sort of a mood he’ll be in now,’ said Janet, ‘and if he thinks that will stop them, he’s got another think coming.’
They heard a moan outside the back door.
‘Quick,’ Shirley said to Tom, ‘get away from the window – he’s coming back.’
CHAPTER 15
The streets in London had almost returned to normal. Most of the children who had been evacuated were back, and on Saturday, even though it was cold and snowy outside, their mothers had wrapped them up warm and sent them out to play. It was the type of morning when any kid with a penny to spare bought sweet cigarettes. The cold, frosty air made it look as if they were actually smoking as they sucked one end and blew out their breath. In Florrie’s corner shop, Betty had almost run out of them, but then she remembered she had a box right at the back of the storeroom. When it had been delivered, she’d had a shop full of customers and no time to put it in its proper place. Supplies were still fairly good, but they didn’t always come on time. She hazarded a guess it was to get her customers used to doing without, so that when rationing started, there would be fewer complaints.
During a lull, she popped out to get the new stock. She was just heaving the box onto the front of the counter when someone came up behind her and said, ‘Here, let me help you, my lovely.’
Betty swung round. ‘Len! Oh, how nice to see you.’
Len Greene picked up the large tin as if it were a child’s building block. ‘In here?’
Betty nodded. ‘Thanks.’ He looked very smart in his uniform. It was unusual to see British soldiers around. She was more used to seeing the Canadians. They were everywhere, even guarding Buckingham Palace, so they said. ‘Home on leave?’
He nodded. ‘Forty-eight hours,’ he said, ‘before I get shipped out.’
‘Do you know where you’re going?’
‘Now, Betty,’ he said teasingly, ‘you know better than to ask me that.’
‘You’re right,’ she said, laughing and slapping her own wrist. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’
‘Is Florrie around?’
Betty looked surprised. ‘Oh, Len, I’m sorry. You don’t know.’
‘Know what?’ said Len. His expression changed. ‘Dear God, she hasn’t sold up and gone back to Sid, has she?’
‘No, no,’ Betty smiled. ‘Nothing like that.’ She leaned forward confidentially, even though there was no one else in the shop. ‘Florrie’s got TB. She’s in a sanatorium in Surrey. She’s been there since the autumn of last year.’
Len looked shocked and surprised. ‘I thought she’d gone with Shirley and Tom to get them settled in,’ he said. ‘That’s what I heard.’
‘She didn’t want everybody knowing,’ said Betty. ‘People might stop coming to the shop if they thought there was something bad here.’
Len nodded. ‘So where are Shirley and Tom?’
‘They were evacuated,’ said Betty. ‘Living on a farm, and Tom loves it, by all accounts.’
‘Well, I never,’ Len remarked. ‘It’s an ill wind . . .’
Betty glanced around at the still-empty shop. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Len. ‘It’s perishing cold out there.’
‘Turn the sign on the door,’ said Betty, ‘and come out the back.’
Since day one, Betty had made herself at home in Florrie’s kitchen, but she never took advantage. She treated her things with respect, and she’d kept everything clean and dusted throughout the whole place in case Florrie came home unexpectedly. She heard a footfall and Len came up behind her. ‘So how have you been keeping, Len?’
‘Mustn’t grumble,’ he said. ‘We’re not seeing much action at the moment.’
‘We all thought it would be over by Christmas,’ she added with a wry smile. ‘Just like we did last time.’
Len sat down with a small sigh.
‘Are you still living at your old place?’
Len nodded. ‘I’ve got a couple of lodgers living there while I’m away. They don’t keep it very clean, but at least someone’s getting the use of it.’
‘Did I tell you I’m doing a first-aid course with the St John in the evening?’ Betty told him just for something to say. ‘It’s for six weeks. The local council want all shopkeepers to do it, and I suppose with things being the way they are, you never know when it might come in handy.’
Len nodded. They drank their tea.
‘Tell you what,’ said Betty eventually. ‘Why don’t I put a card in the shop window for a cleaning woman? I’m sure there’s plenty around here who would jump at the chance to make a few bob with an honest job.’ She handed him a plain postcard. ‘I could keep an eye on things if you like?’
‘Good idea,’ said Len. ‘What’s the going rate?’
Betty shrugged. ‘Half a crown an hour sounds about right.’
‘Half a crown it is, then,’ said Len. He paused. ‘Have you got an address for Florrie? I might drop her a line if I can.’
Betty wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it to him. ‘I never understood why you didn’t ask her to marry you all those years ago,’ she remarked. Then, seeing his startled expression, she immediately regretted her forthrightness. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. It’s none of my business.’
He gave her a shy smile and stood to his feet.
‘Take care of yourself, Len,’ said Betty stiffly.
Len put his cap back on. ‘Thanks for your help, my love
ly.’
As he headed for the door, he paused, and still with his back to her, he said, ‘And as for Florrie, I guess I could never find the right time.’ He hesitated before adding in a barely audible mumble, ‘More fool me.’
Betty didn’t move. She heard him walking through the shop. Then the door opened and closed again, and just for a second or two she felt unbelievably sad.
There wasn’t a lot to do on the ward. Several patients had gone home, and although she was still on bed rest, Florrie didn’t need much nursing. She watched the nurses cleaning out cupboards and rolling bandages – anything to make it look as if they were working hard.
After lunch, Sister sent two nurses into the big linen cupboard, but before they went, Nurse Cook came over. ‘Have you got any more paper bags, Florrie?’
Florrie pointed to her bedside locker, where she kept the small suitcase of paper and tissue Doreen had brought. Her supply was nearly used up now, but she hadn’t asked for any more. If truth be told, she was getting a bit bored with making paper flowers. What she wanted was a new challenge. She might be low on paper, but she still had plenty of paper bags.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind us having these?’ said Nurse Cook.
‘Not at all,’ said Florrie.
Nurse Cook took a handful and put the case back in the locker.
‘If you need any more,’ said Florrie, ‘just help yourself.’
She guessed they were going to sort out the chocolates – one bag for every person who worked on the ward, but the two nurses were only in the linen cupboard for a short while before they came back out again. Most of the patients were asleep, and as they looked around the ward, Florrie closed her eyes quickly.
When she opened them again, the two nurses were talking with the ward sister. They spoke in low tones, but it was so quiet Florrie could just about hear them. Her lungs might be shot, but her hearing was excellent.
‘She’s even put the wrapping paper back over the boxes,’ said Nurse Cook.
‘How many chocolates are left?’ asked Sister.
Nurse Davies slid the box from its wrapping paper and opened the lid. ‘Four.’
‘Only four!’ exclaimed Sister in hushed tones. ‘I can hardly believe it.’