War Widow

by June Francis

  Then unexpectedly the air was ripped apart by the squawking of a bird and the low growling of the cat. Flora looked up and saw the slow movement of the animal’s tail and the bird pinned down under its paw on the lavatory roof. Anger suddenly erupted inside her. She threw the scrubbing brush at the cat. It yelped and stared at her with indignant eyes. The bird’s wings fluttered momentarily.

  Flora scrambled up the lavatory door, crying, ‘Beat it, you horrible moggy!’ She aimed a slap at it as she heaved herself on to the stone roof. The cat fled, leaving its prey behind. Slowly she slid her hand under the bird, feeling the quick flurried movement of its breast. She feared that its close encounter with death would kill it. Death! She’d had enough of it. Suddenly it seemed terribly important that the sparrow should not die. She stroked its head gently, and it struck her that she had not really accepted Tom’s death till today. Missing presumed dead. Now she knew the truth and it made a difference to her thinking. Rosie and Tom – she hoped that they were together.

  Flora looked down at the bird. ‘Well, are you going to go for life or give up on it?’ she said softly.

  Its wings fluttered and the tiny claws sought a hold. A smile started inside her as slowly she slid her hand from beneath it and backed away.

  The sparrow took flight, soaring up into the air for a short while before fluttering down on to the roof amongst its fellows.

  Flora sat and stared at them a moment, and then she climbed down the door and finished scrubbing the yard.

  Part Two

  Chapter Twelve

  Flora knelt on the hassock and buried her face on her folded arms, resting them on the dark wood ledge of the pew in front of her. It was over a year since Rosie had died. One year, nine weeks, three days of living without her lively presence in the house. It had not been easy and she had almost lost her faith.

  She lifted her head and glanced about the empty church. The door had been open and on impulse she had come inside. The sun had been shining through the stained glass windows beyond the communion table, casting shafts of red, blue, green, yellow, and purple over the tiled floor and the linen on the table. The blaze of colour had drawn her further in.

  She raised her eyes to gaze at the window depicting Jesus and the apostles at the last supper. Underneath were painted the words ‘Till He Comes’.

  ‘Lord, I have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Forgive me.’ The words seemed to come from deep inside her and stole around the church. She found herself listening to the silence that followed. Peace in her mind – that was what she needed, not voices and pictures of her dear dead, and a burden of guilt, and a keening cry that seemed to go on and on inside, hurting.

  The last year had been a difficult time for all of them and George seemed to have grown wilder than ever. She accepted that he was grieving for Rosie but his behaviour had tried her beyond belief. Even Kathleen Murphy, his faithful slave, had given up on him and gone home howling one day when he had pushed her over while playing rounders. The girl had grazed both knees and her mam had come down. Only Carmel had not complained. Instead she had suggested that they all walked to the Pier Head to watch the ships and have a picnic of jam butties and watered-down orange juice. The salt air had done them all good and the walk had tired them out.

  But while George had been difficult, Vivien had grown more sensible – had helped her in the house and gone shopping as far as the corner shop. It was her niece who had brought Mike to mind because there had been no money for treats and she had reminded Flora of how generous he had been. That, and the fact that trouble was brewing in Europe because of the Russians. It would be terrible if there was another war so soon.

  At first she had stayed home with the children but at last she had realised the impossibility of keeping check on them all of the time. Financial necessity had caused her in the end to get a job in another printer’s in Islington. It had finished last week because the owner had died and his middle-aged brother and sister had not wanted to keep the business on.

  She had thought of returning to Martin’s because Stephen had continued to come and see her every now and again despite her coolness towards him. For a long time she had found it difficult to forgive him for the hurt he had caused her. Stephen and Hilda … Both had borne grudges against Tom and that surely had affected their judgement of him. She wished that her sister had never said the things that she had, and that she and Hilda could both forgive and forget. Sisters should stick together.

  Yesterday the children had gone back to school. George had started at the Secondary Modern last year, having failed the eleven plus. Flora blamed the bad winter and his lost schooling.

  Her main problem now was finding another job. Any job! Her father had spoken of seeing an advertisement in one of his local shops – perhaps it would be worth having a look?

  She lifted her head and became aware of the pain in her elbows, resting on the pew. She would have tried praying then, but a carefully modulated voice speaking her name brought her head round. She felt slightly embarrassed at being caught on her knees. She, who only went to church on high days and holidays. ‘Hello, vicar,’ she murmured, getting awkwardly to her feet and facing him. ‘I hope you – don’t mind me coming in?’

  ‘That’s what the church is for.’ His expression was concerned. ‘How are you? I called a while ago but your father said –’

  She flushed. ‘I can imagine what he said.’ Her father had no time for the clergy for all he was strongly Protestant. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t see you but I wasn’t up to talking to anybody.’ She began to edge towards the entrance.

  ‘And now?’ He walked with her, smiling gravely. ‘I presume you came here for spiritual help.’

  ‘I suppose I did,’ she murmured.

  ‘Did you get any?’ He was still smiling, and suddenly she smiled back.

  ‘I didn’t hear any heavenly voices speaking out loud if that’s what you mean.’

  He laughed. ‘Now that would be something! Sometimes I think we’d all like our religion to be a bit more dramatic – miraculous even.’

  ‘A few miracles would come in handy.’ She gazed about her ‘A church is a good place to think, though.’

  ‘Yes.’ He followed her eyes a moment. ‘You’re welcome to come and think any time you like.’ His voice was gentle. ‘Sometimes it’s easier when it’s quiet like this. People can get in the way when we deeply need to communicate with the Lord.’

  She nodded, not liking to say that she had hardly been doing that. And yet she was feeling more at peace and more positive about the future. ‘I’ll have to go.’ She held out her hand automatically. He took it, holding it for a moment between both his own.

  ‘I’ll continue to pray for you, Mrs Cooke. We all miss Rosie. But I’m sure she’s delighting the angels with her high spirits, just as she did us.’

  Flora stared at him, feeling pleasure because he suddenly painted a different picture of Rosie for her. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘God bless you.’

  ‘And you.’ He released her hand and saw her to the door. She waved briefly as she walked away, her shoulders back and her head high, tears in her eyes.

  Flora walked a couple of miles, not taking note of where she was going until she realised that she had automatically continued along the road and up in the direction of her father’s house. Now she was outside one of the local bakeries. She paused to blow her nose and wipe her eyes, and as her vision cleared the large card in the window became readable. It was advertising for a shop assistant. It seemed an answer to a prayer, she thought with a hint of a smile, and must be the one that her father had mentioned. Pausing only to smoothe her hair and dab at her eyes again, she pushed open the door, setting a bell jangling.

  A woman, tall and thin and possibly younger than the fortyish that Flora instantly decided on, pinned a smile on her thin lips and came forward. ‘Canna help yer, madam?’

  ‘Yes please,’ she said positively with a smile. ‘I’ve come about the job. I’m h
onest, hard-working and I need it.’

  For a moment the woman stared at her and then she laughed. ‘Self-praise is no recommendation.’ She rolled her Rs slightly.

  ‘I can give you the names of two past employers if you want them,’ said Flora, and promptly did.

  The woman’s greying brows hooded her eyes. ‘Yer don’t have to convince me, dearie. It’s the boss that yer’ll have to be doing that to and he’s in the bakeroom. Newly back from serving in His Majesty’s forces and determined to expand against all the odds.’ She paused, eyeing Flora carefully. ‘Are yer in mourning, or do yer like black? It always looks smart, I think.’

  Flora was taken aback but she answered the question and gave a couple of extra details, thinking that they might make the woman more sympathetic towards her.

  The woman’s face looked interested. ‘Yer man killed in the war?’ Flora nodded. ‘That’s sad.’ She smoothed her white overall. ‘I lost me fiancé in the war as well.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Flora did not really know what to say, not wanting to be drawn into talking about Tom and the war.

  ‘Aye,’ murmured the woman, staring at a point somewhere above Flora’s head. ‘Real weird, it was.’ She shook-her head. ‘I’ll get Mr Brown. The shop was his mam’s but her nerves went when the bombs came and she killed herself. So I’ve been in charge while he’s been away. Wait here now while I go and tell him someone’s come for Norma’s job.’ She disappeared through a door into the back.

  Flora glanced about the shop, wondering at the things people said to complete strangers, and hoping that Mr Brown wouldn’t ask her too many personal questions. It was quiet in the shop but she realised that was probably because it was nearly lunch time and they would be closing soon. The sound of footsteps and voices caused her to turn.

  She was completely unprepared for the man who came into the shop and her eyes widened. He was incredibly handsome with strongly angled bones to his face and eyes that appeared almost black. He had a perfectly straight nose and a dimpled chin, and his hair was dark and fell in a deep wave above finely drawn browns. His gaze met hers unblinkingly. ‘So you’ve come about the job?’ His voice was light and rapid. ‘Maggie says that you’re a widow. When can you start? The last girl left in rather a hurry – said her boyfriend had come home and they were getting married right away.’

  ‘I can start now if that’s what you want,’ said Flora, slightly dazed by the flood of information. ‘But I have no experience. ‘

  He eyed her up and down and a slight smile eased his mouth. ‘You’ll soon learn.’ He brought out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Maggie’ll tell you the pay and hours. What’s your name?’

  ‘Flora Cooke.’ She felt uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny but decided she might as well say what was on her mind, and squared her shoulders. ‘I was hoping my hours could be just till four. I have kids.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You stay till six unless everything is sold,’ he rasped. ‘I want a full-timer.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that today.’ Her voice was steady, concealing her dismay. ‘The children won’t know where I am.’

  He stared at her a moment longer, then nodded. ‘Tonight you can go.’ He lit his cigarette. ‘Tomorrow you stay –Wednesday afternoons off. You work all day Saturdays.’

  She nodded, although working all day Saturday did not really suit her at all. But her father’s house was not far away and he might be prepared to put up with the children, knowing she was just round the corner. The job would do her until she got the chance of another.

  ‘Good!’ He blew out a stream of smoke. ‘Maggie’ll show you the ropes. I live over the shop and I’m going for lunch now.’ He left them, dragging off his white overall as he went.

  Flora exchanged glances with Maggie, who wiggled both eyebrows. ‘He’s a looker, isn’t he?’ she whispered. ‘But don’t let those gorgeous eyes deceive yer. He’s hard. But do yer job properly and yer won’t have any trouble.’

  Flora nodded. ‘Do I start now? Where do I put my coat?’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘Didn’t yer hear him now? It’s lunch time.’ She began to unbutton her overall. ‘Come back in three quarters of an hour and then yer can get started.’

  Flora nodded and left the shop, deciding that she might as well go and visit her father and ask him about Saturdays.

  She was back at the shop exactly on time, relieved that her father had agreed to keep his eye on the children, although she guessed that George would play in the street. Maggie came along a couple of minutes after her and opened up. A white overall and cap was found for Flora. ‘It was Norma’s,’ said the older woman. ‘She was a wee bit shorter than yer and fatter but it should fit.’ It did, and Flora set about learning the price of the different cakes and bread and pies – as well as how to work the big brass till – in what felt like a very brief quarter of an hour. ‘What yer don’t remember, yer’ll learn as yer go along,’ said Maggie, glancing at the clock on the wall before unbolting the door. ‘Yer only have to ask.’

  ‘I hope I don’t muck everything up, ‘Flora said breathlessly, rushing behind the counter.

  ‘We’re never as busy in the afternoons as the mornings, so don’t yer be worryin’,’ said Maggie. ‘Yer’ll cope.’

  To Flora’s relief she did, but being on her feet all the time was something that took some getting used to. They had a cup of tea halfway through the afternoon and it was then that Maggie surprised Flora by asking her how Tom had been killed.

  ‘He was declared missing presumed dead,’ she said shortly, sipping her tea. ‘It was a shell blew several of them up.’

  Maggie stared at her with something akin to pleasure. ‘Now isn’t that strange? My Alf was declared missing and I couldn’t bear the suspense – so I asked this friend, who knew this man who could see things if he could see anything for me.’

  Flora felt slightly confused and her brow creased. ‘What kind of thing?’

  ‘Anything about Alf! It was real weird, I can tell yer. I told him about Alf and ’e said ’e were dead.’ Maggie sighed. ‘In a way it was a relief, knowing. Not long after I got a letter confirming ’is death. They found ’is body. It was frightening in a way – it’s strange the way some people ’ave powers to see things.’

  ‘The odds were that your fiancé was dead, surely?’ said Flora sceptically.

  Maggie smiled. ‘I would have thought that meself but me friend had ’er fortune read by him. She was engaged to an airman at the time but he told ’er that ’e was not the man she would marry. And sure enough a couple of days later she met this other fella and she ended up marrying him.‘

  ’He could have just put the idea in her head,’ insisted Flora. ‘She wouldn’t be the only one to change partners during the war.’

  Maggie frowned. ‘You’re an unbeliever, Flo. I can see tha’. But if yer’d only give it a go! This man I’ve been talking about can get in touch with the Other Side.‘

  ‘The other side of what?’ asked Flora, unable to resist teasing her.

  ‘You know,’ hissed Maggie, nudging her, and taking her cup as a customer entered. ‘I’ll tell yer another time and maybe you’ll laugh on the other side of yer face then.’

  Flora just smiled and went to serve the customer, dismissing what Maggie said while considering it strange that both of them should have had their men missing presumed dead. But at least Maggie was friendly enough and that was a good thing.

  It was busy in the shop the next morning, which suited Flora because it gave her less time to think. She enjoyed dealing with the customers. They were all different. She addressed the first woman in the queue. ‘Can I help you, love?’

  ‘A Vienna and two eccles, queen. Yer’re new here, aren’t yer?’ Flora nodded, smiling. ‘Yer’ll soon get used to us.’ The customer’s voice was cheerful as she counted out money along the counter, coin by coin. Flora hurried to pick it up because already an elderly man was rustling a ten shilling note and flourishing his bread units.

&nb
sp; ‘Hurry up, girl! I haven’t got all day.’ He glared at her. ‘Where’s the other one gone? I’d just got used to her. Changes all the time. I don’t know what the world’s coming to.’ Flora only smiled and rushed to get what he wanted.

  ‘Any custards?’ The twin girls’ heads barely reached the counter. ‘Me gran’s fancyin’ custards,’ said one. ‘And me Aunty Ethel’s comin’ for tea,’ said the other.

  So it went on most of the morning with few lulls in which to take a break. Flora’s feet and back began to ache.

  Mr Brown came sauntering in just as Maggie turned the ‘Closed’ sign. He leaned against the counter and tossed his cap on it, before pulling out his cigarettes. ‘How’s Mrs Cooke coped, Maggie?’

  ‘Fine,’ responded the older woman briskly. ‘She’s quick and polite and never lost her smile.’

  ‘Good.’ He stared at Flora. ‘But it’s early days – will you still be smiling at the end of the month, I wonder?’ He lit his cigarette and walked out again.

  Flora pulled a face but said nothing, shrugging herself out of her overall and getting her coat. If she rushed she would just make it home in time to stoke up the fire and put a hot pot in the oven. She hurried out.

  That night she was really tired and for the first time in a long time she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

  ‘D’yer enjoy this job?’ asked Maggie, watching Flora slide a tray of hot tin loaves along the counter a couple of weeks later. ‘It must be quite differ’int from yer last two.’

  ‘It is, but I don’t mind that. It keeps my mind occupied and that’s the main thing.’