by Annie Murray
‘Well, I’ve never heard of anything like it,’ she said.
‘Nor me,’ Danny added.
‘Well, aren’t you glad for him?’ Rachel stood over them, blazing at them both. ‘Just because something’s new and different doesn’t make it bad, does it? They’ve set up a school specially. And Tommy wants to go. It’s a chance for him – so we’re going.’
Normally Rachel deferred to Gladys, but not this time.
‘Well . . .’ Gladys clasped her teacup between both hands. ‘I s’pose if that’s what they think best . . . What about you, Tommy, eh?’ She reached round and stroked his cheek. ‘What d’you think about going to this place?’
‘I – I . . .’ He was agitated, gasping for words.
‘Take it slow, Tommy,’ Melly said, leaning towards him. ‘One word at a time.’ She felt she needed to remind him and everyone that she had been Tommy’s teacher up until now. She was the one who had helped him learn all the things he knew. She had a horrible shrinking feeling as if she was about to lose something very important and no one else was going to notice.
Struggling for each word, Tommy brought out, ‘The lady – was – nice. I want – to – go – and – see.’
‘What’s it cost?’ Danny asked, still hostile. ‘There’s got to be a catch somewhere.’
‘You don’t pay. It’s some kind of charity thing,’ Rachel said hurriedly. ‘He’s not in yet, not for sure – they have to look at him and then decide.’
‘Oh, ar – I see,’ Danny said, sitting back as if to say, well, that’s the end of all that then. What’s all the fuss about? Tommy wouldn’t be going anyway.
‘But she said she thought he has a very good chance,’ Rachel insisted. ‘And if they take him, they want me to go and help a bit – every so often, like. You know, with the kiddies.’
‘Well.’ Gladys sat back. It was all taking a while to sink in, but she knew, as Danny’s aunt and the oldest there, that she had the authority in this house and she asserted herself. She looked round the table. ‘It sounds to me like a good thing for the lad to try. If it’s what they’re making it out to be, any road.’ She gave her nephew a sharp look. ‘No need to stand in the lad’s way if there’s summat for him. If you’re happy, Rach, we’d better let him.’
Rachel folded her arms. ‘Oh, he’s going.’
Danny didn’t reply. He nudged Kevin. ‘Come on, soldier – want to kick that ball around for a bit? And you, Ricky?’
Kevin leapt down from the table, full of energy as ever. The two boys went out, with Kevin’s ball. Melly saw her mother frown, her eyes following Danny, and the expression in them was full of hurt and disappointment.
People who were out on Alma Street that morning stopped and turned uneasily to watch. A large Austin hearse rumbled along the cobbles at an unhurried pace, the driver craning his neck as if in search of the right address. He braked the heavy black vehicle at the kerb, wound down the window and called to a woman in a headscarf for directions. She straightened up, pointing, her face sober at the thought of a death nearby.
The driver, a rotund man with a remaining ring of black hair round a bald patch, switched off the engine and made his way along the entry, buttoning his jacket as he went. He searched out number three on the yard and the Mrs Booker he was looking for. He found her ready and waiting, her son with her in his chair.
Rachel pushed Tommy out along the entry, stopped and stared with incredulity at the car.
‘Are you having me on?’
‘No, I’m not,’ the driver said, huffily. ‘Sometimes they use our cars when the taxis are busy. They use cars from the Electric Garage and they’ve only got so many to spare.’ As they got in he added, ‘Any road, you’re best off with me. Theirs’re forever breaking down.’
A curious crowd gathered. The absence of any sign of a coffin or black funeral garb made the situation even more interesting for the Alma Street bystanders. Rachel felt hysterical giggles rising up in her. This would make Danny laugh when she told him later on.
‘Off somewhere nice, are yer, bab?’ some joker called from behind her.
‘Come on,’ the driver said, with an air of someone weary of merry comments about his vehicle. ‘Let’s get you inside.’
Rachel settled beside Tommy on the seat, his chair stowed safely in the boot. Tommy looked suddenly very small in the grand car, like a rag doll slumped on the seat. His face was solemn, his left arm seeming stiffer and more clenched than usual. He told her he had hardly slept. He was awed and nervous about the whole experience. Rachel worried suddenly that something might happen, that he’d wet the seat or something.
‘You don’t need to go, do you, Tommy?’ she whispered as the car pulled away from the kerb. He’d been just before they left, but how awful it would be if . . .
He shook his head and managed a tiny smile. Rachel was filled with tenderness looking at him. Her poor little boy – he had hardly been anywhere in his life and now this. What a thing! She took his hand and squeezed it.
‘I feel like a film star,’ she said, letting some of her giggles out. ‘Look, people’re waving!’
And then they set off at a dignified, almost regal pace, along Alma Street, past the Salutation pub and the Crocodile works and into Summer Lane, before gliding into Birmingham. She looked out at the centre of town which still felt like one big building site. As they crawled through, she stared out at the blitzed city trying to recover, at the jagged gaps between the buildings, the cranes, the scaffolding and dust and mess of it all and then they were out the other side and heading south towards the greener suburb of Harborne village.
As soon as Danny came home that night, she flung herself at him.
‘They say he can go – he can go to the school! Oh, it’s such a nice place – and I’m going to go and help!’ She was so excited she hadn’t been able to sit still since the car brought them back – a normal taxi this time, which had still caused a bit of a stir when they arrived home. ‘They said it’s the only school like it in the whole country. Oh, and everyone was so nice and they know just how to look after him!’
When they’d got to the school in Victoria Road and saw the buildings, the classrooms and garden and all the kind people working with the children she couldn’t help it – again, she broke down and wept. That all this existed, that there could be such a place, all arranged specially for children like Tommy – it was a miracle! And as she looked round, seeing the children in their classes, the way everything was done to try and help each of them learn, even with all their varying difficulties, she was filled with astonishment.
‘All right, all right, calm down, wench!’ Danny said, trying to put down the bags he was carrying as she hung round his neck. But he was laughing at her enthusiasm.
‘I just never knew there were people like that, Danny.’ She was tearful again now. ‘It feels as if . . .’ How to say it, that everything felt different, that the whole world seemed to have changed when you could find all this help and kindness in it?
Danny looked round. ‘Where is the lad then?’
‘Upstairs having a kip,’ Rachel said. ‘He was worn out after all the excitement, poor little lamb. Oh, Danny –’ She went to him again. ‘I’m so pleased for him. I can hardly believe it.’
Eleven
Tommy sat in the back of the taxi as he did every afternoon now. They turned up Alma Street and parked in the usual place. It was Friday, the end of his first week at school and he was so tired he had almost fallen asleep on the comfortable car seat on the drive home.
‘I’ll just go and get your mother,’ the driver said.
Tommy waited. He was always waiting for something. He could feel people peering into the car and he shrank down in the seat. If only he could jump out and run along the entry out of sight! He knew that later he’d go to Mo and Dolly’s house to watch their television. He loved telly with a passion. It could take you anywhere. At school he had made a friend called Simon who loved telly as well and they talked about
The Quatermass Experiment. Even though it ended months ago it still gave him churning, excited, terrified feelings when he thought about it. There was a new series on now called Fabian of the Yard, which was all about policemen and crimes. Tommy had seen one episode and was itching to see more of it . . .
Knuckles rapped the window. ‘Tommy! Wakey-wakey!’
His mother opened the door. Her face looked white and tired. Tommy wriggled and slithered out of the car and into his chair.
‘Thanks very much,’ Rachel said to the driver.
‘All right. Ta-ra,’ he muttered, through his cigarette.
‘How was it today?’ She leaned down and he felt her breath on his neck and heard the anxiety in her voice. ‘Taxi all right?’ The driver of the hearse had been right – the old taxis which ferried the children around often coughed bronchially into silence on the way.
‘Yeah. All right.’
It was all right. It was more than all right, sitting in the classroom with other boys and girls the same as him but each different in their own way. Some had far worse difficulties than his. They were trying him out doing all sorts of things. He showed them that he could write his letters as long as the paper was fixed down. People seemed to be pleased. Tommy felt happy but limp with exhaustion. So many things happening all day – it wore him out.
As soon as they got into the yard, Melly appeared. She came and helped Mom push the chair, although Mom didn’t need help.
‘Did you like your school today?’ she asked, babying him.
He didn’t say anything. Melly had always given him lessons when she got home from school. When he had been sitting not doing much all day, he had waited for her, wanting her to come home. But now when he got back he had been on the go all day and he was tired out.
In the house, Mom had cut him a piece with jam on it.
‘When you’ve had that, shall I play a game with you?’ Melly said.
Tommy was deep in one of Dad’s comics. He shook his head. ‘No – don’t wan’oo.’
He didn’t look at Melly. He knew she was good with games and lessons but he had proper teachers now. She took over everything. He wished she would leave him alone.
‘Don’t you want to do some letters?’ Melly persisted. Tommy could hear the hurt in her voice but he carried on staring at the comic.
‘Leave him, Melly,’ Mom snapped. ‘He’s had enough. And that telly programme he likes is on soon anyhow. Why don’t you go and see Cissy while she’s here? It’s not as if she gets herself over here often these days.’
Peering out into the yard in Cissy’s direction, she added, to Gladys, ‘We’re gonna have to watch that one. She’s up there by the works with Dolly’s Fred again.’
Tommy could feel Melly standing by his chair, looking down at him. He didn’t look up and after a minute she went to the door and slipped outside. No one called her back.
Melly stood at the side of the yard, in the dying light. She leaned against the wall, arms clenched across her chest. Cissy had come over after work to stay with them, but Cissy’s idea of fun these days was hanging around with Freddie Morrison.
Cissy had left school now and was fulfilling Nanna Peggy’s dream of having a daughter working in a big store. Well, almost. Peggy really wanted a daughter selling clothes or perfume at Lewis’s or Rackham’s. Cissy was working at Woolworth’s, but at least it was Woolworth’s in the Bull Ring and Peggy was sure it would lead to higher things.
Now she had left school, with a sigh and a flounce of relief, Cissy considered herself a Woman and Melly still to be a Child. Melly was fed up with her. Cissy used to come over to play with her, but she knew that these days, Alma Street was the main place where Cissy could meet boys. Cissy was full of new words these days. Everything was ‘cool’ or ‘hip’. She wore full, swinging skirts and hoiked her ginger hair into a high ponytail.
Freddie, the youngest of the five Morrison lads, was fifteen, only a few months older than Cissy. Cissy had previously had a crush on Jonny, his older brother, but that hadn’t lasted long.
‘Jonny’s boring,’ she’d announced last year. Jonny, of all the Morrison boys, was the studious one. The others had left school and worked for various firms in the area, but Jonny wanted to be a teacher. Now that there were enough wages coming into the house from all the others, Mo and Dolly had said he could stay on at school. Jonny, at seventeen, had his nose constantly in a book and this was not good-time-girl Cissy’s cup of tea at all.
So she had set her sights on Freddie instead. He was a jolly, uncomplicated lad who worked for a firm turning out brass pressings and stampings. As soon as he was finished at work, he was looking for fun and Cissy was eager to provide it. The two of them had lengthy, secretive chats in which Cissy did a lot of giggling. One of these chats was going on right now, by the wall of the wire works. Freddie, blonde and muscular, though not much taller than Cissy, was leaning one elbow against the wall, one leg nonchalantly bent. Cissy was laughing at everything he said even if it wasn’t funny.
‘I don’t know why you bother coming any more if you don’t want to do anything,’ Melly had said to Cissy earlier. Cissy seemed to have no time for her these days. She just rolled her eyes, looked superior and didn’t say anything back.
Melly was so fed up that she felt like hurting Cissy – slapping or scratching her. But it was the rejection she felt from Tommy that was the worst. He didn’t seem to want anything from her now he was at school. Tommy had also told her that at school they had a proper frame to hold his paper, to stop it slipping. He was quite good with his right hand and his writing was coming on. What he could not do was to hold the paper still with his left hand. But he was now on to something better than having the paper weighed down with a tin of marrowfat peas and a packet of salt or whatever came to hand. Everything at Carlson House was marvellous and it seemed that none of the things she had done for him were good enough now.
Her throat ached with the need to cry. Earlier, she had wanted Tommy to see how near her tears were, to take pity on her. But he just kept staring at his comic.
Another outbreak of giggles came from along the yard and Melly turned her back on Cissy and Fred. The worst of it was, what Cissy felt for him wasn’t even a tiny fraction of what she felt for Reggie, she thought furiously. Reggie was older and much more exciting than stupid old Fred. But Melly couldn’t tell anyone about that because she felt embarrassed and no one would believe her. Reggie wasn’t even here – he’d been away in the army for so long. Dolly kept saying he might be home for Christmas and every time she thought of it, Melly felt an electric thrill of excitement.
As she stood there Melly could hear the rise and fall of Dolly’s voice inside number one over the murmur of the television. Frankie Davies, the boy from number four, kept trotting up and down hitting his own thigh and saying, ‘G’won, Trigger!’ Melly didn’t want to know about Frankie. He was pale and odd, with adenoids. Beyond him, tucked against the far wall, was the Norton, Wally and Reggie’s pride and joy, under an old tarpaulin. Wally tinkered with it at the weekends and took it out, with threats directed at any of the children in the yard as to what would happen to them if he caught them meddling with it.
Melly picked at the moss on the wall with her finger. The memory of her brother’s bowed head kept forcing itself into her mind. Tommy wouldn’t look up at her. Tommy, who before had turned to her for almost everything. She had been his companion, his teacher. Now he didn’t want her. She was glad the light was bad because she didn’t want to cry in front of Frankie Davies. She swallowed hard, feeling more lost and lonely standing there in the shadows than she had ever felt before.
No one seemed to want her. Mom only took any notice when she had a job for her to do and all she talked about now was Tommy’s new school. She went in once a week to help and it seemed to have taken over all of her mind. Dad played with Kev and Ricky, never with her. She wanted someone to want her – need her.
A warm feeling spread through her as she thought a
bout the nurse who had come when Ricky was born. You could make a marvellous little nurse one day. The idea caught hold in her mind. That was what she’d do – she’d become a nurse! Then she could look after people and they would need her and think she was special, the way she’d thought Nurse Waller was special. She’d work in a hospital and she’d be called Nurse Booker and she’d be the best nurse that ever was!
She was full of a burning passion, all in that moment, wanting it now, wanting it to begin. She thought about Lil Gittins. Lil always said what a good girl she was and how Stanley seemed to talk to her when he didn’t to most people. That’s what she would do. She’d go and see Stanley. She could help him; nurse him or whatever he needed.
Straightening up, she brushed down her grey school dress. Pulling her shoulders back, she said to herself, ‘Nurse Booker went to call at number five.’ She walked in a dignified manner across the yard, past Cissy and Freddie. She waited for Cissy to call to her, ‘Where’re you off to, Melly?’ But Cissy, propped in a provocative stance against the wall of the wire factory, didn’t even look round. Melly reached number five and, after taking a breath, rapped on the door.
‘Yes? Who is it?’ She heard Lil’s tense voice from inside. Poor Lil. That was what everyone called her. Poor Lil with her wrecked husband, her lost youth. But Melly could not remember Lil before the war. In her memory she had always been grey-haired and thin and nervy.
‘It’s . . .’ She wanted to say, ‘Nurse Booker.’ Nurse Booker who strode across battlefields bringing balm and healing to injured men, like Florence Nightingale, who they had heard a story about at school. The men reached out to her, desperate, with trembling hands as she went past. They never forgot her. ‘It’s me. Melly.’
The door opened. Lil had a pinner on over her dress, hair half hanging down. She looked tense, her hands concealed behind her back. A nasty smell drifted out through the door.