War Orphans

by Lizzie Lane

  ‘Now you sit there and don’t move until you’ve eaten it all up.’

  Joanna did as she was told. ‘Thanks, mister.’

  ‘Seb. You can call me Seb. Now eat up and once you’ve done that and got a warm drink down you, you can tell me all about yourself and young Harry here.’

  The sandwich of cheese and pickle went down very well indeed. So did the piece of pork pie and the slice of apple cake he gave her.

  ‘Aren’t you having any?’ she asked him.

  He smiled. ‘I had a big breakfast and, anyway, I’m not growing any longer. You still are and so is Harry.’

  Once she had eaten all he gave her, she told him that on the day she found Harry she had been in tears because her stepmother had got rid of her cat.

  ‘The man who came tried to tell me that she was going to a better place. I thought he meant in the country but then I found out that she would be put to sleep . . .’ She paused, alarm in her eyes. ‘They don’t really mean sleep, do they? They mean Lottie was killed.’ Her bottom lip quivered.

  Seb shook his head. ‘It’s a rum do and that’s for sure,’ he muttered, unsure what to say that could possibly make her feel any better. ‘Still, look at it this way. If you hadn’t been crying over Lottie, you wouldn’t have gone down to the brook and found Harry. He’d be dead along with his brothers and sisters, so there was some good came out of that bad, wasn’t there.’

  ‘My friend Paul found the dead puppies and buried them. I didn’t tell him about Harry.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t want to tell anyone about him.’ She looked up suddenly. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

  ‘Cross my heart,’ he said, making the sign over his chest.

  Satisfied he was telling the truth, she happily passed the last of her pork pie to Harry, who gulped it down quickly. Then she sat up straight as a dire thought came to her. ‘I have to get him something for his supper. The bones won’t be enough, but the shops are closed.’

  Seb’s heart was touched by the concern in her eyes. ‘Tell you what, how would it be if I brought something from home for him tonight?’

  It did his heart good to see Joanna’s face light up the way it did.

  ‘Could you, mister?’ Her face was a picture of grateful innocence.

  ‘Yep. I can do that,’ he said, his joints cracking as he got to his feet. ‘And stop calling me “mister”. It’s Seb. Seb Hadley. All right?’

  Joanna nodded emphatically. She had been a little afraid of this man, but then once he’d given her food and she’d learned he’d been feeding Harry when she hadn’t been able to come, her doubts retreated.

  There was only one thing that continued to worry her.

  ‘Is this your shed? For ever?’

  Seb gazed around him at the stout wooden frame, the mismatched bits of wood that formed the walls. ‘That it is. I built this myself. Me and my Gracie that is.’

  Joanna presumed he was speaking of his wife. ‘Do we have to go? I mean, can Harry live here?’

  He looked at her in amazement. ‘Did I say you had to go?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not so much me. I mean Harry. Do you mind him living here?’

  ‘I just said I don’t. Harry can stay here. Nobody else lives here do they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Still,’ said Seb as he folded up the newspaper so it would be suitable for reusing. ‘I reckon Harry needs to get out and about a bit more. He can’t stay in here for ever now, can he.’

  Joanna thought about it. ‘I suppose not. I suppose I’ll have to start taking him for walks.’

  ‘I suppose you will.’

  Joanna bit her bottom lip as she mulled over how best to take the puppy for a walk without him running away.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Seb, one bushy eyebrow rising higher than the other in a quizzical manner.

  ‘I need some string for a lead.’

  Seb eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You’ll need something. A collar too, no doubt. Now I’d better get on. I’ve got tools to clean. You stay here and play with Harry while I get that done. Where do you live?’

  ‘The Vale. One hundred and sixteen.’

  ‘Right. Well soon as I’m done I’ll walk you home. It’ll be getting dark soon.’

  ‘I can find my own way home!’ Joanna’s outburst was sudden and caused Seb to look up from scraping the last clod of mud from his spade before smearing it with oil.

  Seb’s eyes softened. Poor little kid. Mother dead, father off to war and her left with a stepmother who had no time for her. Seb decided it would not be wise to push the issue.

  ‘All right then. How about I walk with you as far as the bottom of The Vale?’

  He saw her hesitation and knew that although she would relish the company she was too frightened to let him come with her. However, he did have an ace up his sleeve. ‘Thing is I’ll be going into that shed every day and if Harry was sick or something, I wouldn’t know how to let you know so I need to know where you live.’

  ‘I told you. It’s number one hundred and sixteen.’

  ‘All right then. I know where you live and nobody is going to see me walk with you as far as the bottom of the hill. Would that be all right?’

  She agreed with a shy smile.

  Dusk was falling by the time he left her at the bottom of The Vale. For a moment he watched her walk away, a waif-like form in worn-out clothes. She’d been as bouncy as a beach ball with Harry. Now, on her way home to a doubtful welcome, she dragged her legs. It didn’t take a genius to know that she didn’t want to go home.

  As he made his own way home, he thought on this woman who was treating a child so badly. It wasn’t until he felt a toothache coming on that he realised just how firmly he’d been clenching his teeth. The damned woman! No matter that Joanna had refused to let him anywhere near where she lived, he was overcome with the urge to know what her stepmother was really like. At some point he would achieve this but wouldn’t let Joanna know of his plans. He was also unsure of what his daughter might say. Nevertheless, it was what he would do.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Christmas morning, two weeks later

  Joanna shivered as she made her way down the stairs. Halfway down she heard the sound of snoring coming from her stepmother’s bedroom. She stopped and looked up, waiting for her stepmother to fling back the door and cuff her ear just because she had a headache.

  Nothing happened. The door remained shut and the snoring continued, so Joanna carried on. Even though it was Christmas Day, she still had a fire to light, though first she would get herself some breakfast.

  The moment she pushed the living-room door open, her nose was assailed with the stench of stale food and drink. An empty bottle of sherry sat in the middle of the table surrounded by dirty plates. Remembering how it had tasted, she wrinkled her nose. The smell was bad enough. The taste was even worse and it made you sleep, and had given her a headache.

  There were two plates on the table, both streaked with remains of the cottage pie their next door neighbour had provided for Christmas dinner. Now there would be nothing. Joanna’s eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t expecting to receive a Christmas present but knew she would get a beating if she didn’t clear the table, wash up and put everything away.

  Having to do her chores as usual wasn’t her main concern. She had hoped to save a little of her own portion of cottage pie for Harry. Now she would have to find something else.

  She couldn’t even guess at the identity of the person who had eaten her portion of Mrs Allen’s welcome gift, but guessed it was a man. Her stepmother didn’t have any close female friends.

  Never mind what her stepmother did, Joanna’s first priority was to get to Harry as fast as she could. Before washing the dishes she scraped the remains of the cottage pie from the oven dish into a sheet of clean newspaper. It wasn’t much but hopefully it would keep the little dog going.

  A quick rummage through the pig bin and she found some pieces of bacon fat and rind. It was ill
egal to throw such things away, but her stepmother was too lazy to render them down for cooking. She didn’t cook that much anyway. Elspeth ate in the factory canteen, taking the view that as she worked all day she deserved to be well fed, leaving Joanna for the most part to fend for herself. There was also a piece of cheese rind that shouldn’t have been there either.

  Joanna wrapped all her finds up, put on her coat and slid the food into her pocket. Carefully she opened the front door and left the house.

  The night hadn’t quite gone. The day was dull and thick with a mist that seemed to soak up both the light and the sounds of the day. In peacetime the church bells would have been ringing, but they wouldn’t ring again until the enemy was defeated and peace had returned to the world.

  She hurried down The Vale and along St John’s Lane, through Victoria Park and down to the allotment. The solitary note of a steam train wailed into the morning mist, its steam adding to the whiteness already cloaking the air.

  Harry peered over the top of his bed, shook his head so that his ears flapped, and got out to meet her. The food she’d brought was gone in a flash.

  Joanna sat looking at him wondering what she could give him next. Perhaps Mrs Allen might have some leftovers she didn’t want? It was worth a try. She resolved to knock on her door later and ask her.

  ‘Right,’ she said, sitting back on her haunches. ‘Harry, it’s Christmas. It’s a time when people buy each other presents. I don’t have anyone to buy for except you, so here it is.’

  She got out a round package containing a red ball Mrs Goodson had found in her garden. Without her old dog she no longer refused to give balls back and, not having found the original owner, she’d given it to Joanna.

  ‘Merry Christmas, dear,’ she’d said the day before yesterday. She’d then rushed indoors dabbing at her eyes.

  Harry made short work of the newspaper she’d wrapped the ball in, tearing it into shreds with his sharp teeth.

  The ball bounced and Harry bounced after it.

  Joanna also got out a piece of rough rope she’d brought with her. Today she intended introducing Harry to a lead. Once the weather improved they would be able to go out for walks and she was looking forward to it. Her only concern was that somebody she knew might see them together, but she’d already decided on a suitable excuse. She was walking the dog for a kind old man who lived close to the park. It was all she could think of to stop Harry being carted off to be killed. Seb was the kind old man she had in mind. Meeting him had come as a complete surprise and also a relief.

  By late morning, Harry was worn out and ready to sleep. Once she’d made sure he had water, Joanna headed for home. There wasn’t much chance of getting anything to eat, but her stomach was beginning to rumble. She’d had nothing since the bowl of porridge she’d prepared herself that morning.

  As she let herself in, she heard a man laughing, then her stepmother laughing in turn. Her spirits soared. Her father was home!

  ‘Daddy!’ she exclaimed. Thinking that her greatest wish had come true she pushed open the door.

  The smell of roast chicken came out to greet her. So did the sight of the man sitting next to her stepmother. Her stepmother’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes had a glassy look.

  ‘Where the bloody hell do you think you’ve been? I’ve a good mind to throw your dinner in the bin.’

  ‘Now, now,’ said the man, patting her stepmother’s hand. ‘Don’t be a cow, Elspeth. It’s Christmas. Goodwill and all that. Anyway, did you tell ’er about the bird? Come on. Get ’er some dinner.’

  The man had a fleshy face and a scar running down one cheek. His lips were almost non-existent, as though at some point he’d sucked them in and swallowed them.

  The way he looked her up and down made Joanna feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Pretty little thing, ain’t she. How about coming and sitting on my lap, Joanna? You can pretend I’m Father Christmas!’

  The look Elspeth gave him was unreadable. She slapped his arm.

  ‘Jack, leave her alone. The girl wants her dinner, don’t you, Joanna? And we’ve got pudding afterwards.’

  ‘You’re just jealous,’ he said, his wet lips grazing Elspeth’s cheek, his eyes fixed on her stepdaughter.

  Joanna sat down at the table, barely able to believe that her stepmother was setting down a plateful of food in front of her. There were roast potatoes, vegetables and slices of chicken all swimming in thick gravy.

  Although she was very hungry, Joanna couldn’t stop staring at the fleshy faced man sitting next to her stepmother. She knew her well enough to realise she was being affable only in order to impress Jack. Whoever Jack was, Joanna didn’t like him and certainly didn’t like the way he looked at her.

  Her stepmother noticed her wary gaze. ‘Joanna!’ she snapped. ‘Stop staring and eat your bloody dinner!’

  Jack intervened. ‘Hang on, hang on. Elspeth, where’s yer manners? You ain’t properly introduced me.’

  Elspeth was all nervous laughter, determined to make a good impression. ‘Jack Smith, you’re big enough to introduce yourself.’ She slapped his arm playfully.

  Jack’s expression seemed to freeze after she did that. ‘Less of a heavy hand, if you don’t mind, Elspeth.’

  His voice had turned surly and although it lightened when he looked at Joanna, he still frightened her. The way he leered at her made Joanna feel slightly sick.

  ‘So there you are, little lady. Me name’s Jack Smith and you’re Joanna Ryan. Now we’ve got that out of the way, we can all get on with our dinner. Then perhaps you can sit on me lap afterwards!’

  Elspeth was about to slap his shoulder again, but on seeing his warning expression instead stroked his arm.

  Both the chicken and the pudding went down well. Joanna was doubly surprised when her stepmother helped her take the dishes into the kitchen.

  ‘There,’ she said resolutely. ‘Wasn’t that nice of Jack to bring us that chicken? I bet there aren’t that many people hereabouts having chicken for their Christmas dinner. Make sure you thank Jack for his present. Right? If you do sit on his lap, remember to give him a Christmas kiss. In fact, make sure you do.’

  Joanna didn’t like her stepmother’s tone of voice. Neither did she like Jack Smith or the prospect of sitting on his lap and kissing him.

  ‘I don’t think Dad would like me to do that. So I won’t.’

  ‘You will do as you’re told.’

  ‘No. If you make me, I’ll tell Dad as soon as he gets home.’

  Alarmed by her defiance, Elspeth Ryan grabbed her arm. Joanna yelped at the pain of her fingers digging into her arms. Her stepmother’s flushed face was inches from her own. ‘He’s my cousin. All right? You remember to tell your father that. It’ll be the worse for you if you don’t,’ she hissed.

  She straightened suddenly, her voice returning to uncharacteristic sweetness.

  ‘Now. You be all right washing the dishes by yourself, will you?’

  Joanna nodded and kept her head down. Anything was better than sitting on Jack Smith’s lap and kissing him.

  Elspeth seemed satisfied enough. ‘I’m going in to have a drink and a chat about old times with Jack. I’ll close the door so we can’t hear the dishes. That’s a good girl. Oh, and do what you can with the remains of the chicken. But tell no one,’ she said in a conspiratory whisper. ‘It has to be a secret.’

  Joanna winced as her stepmother patted her head a little more heavily than was necessary. Once the door was closed she washed the dishes as quickly as she could, one eye on the remains of the chicken. There was some flesh left plus the cooked entrails and neck along with pieces of crisp skin.

  Once the dishes were washed, dried and put away, she divided the chicken into flesh, bones, skin and entrails. The latter two items were wrapped up in newspaper along with the gizzard, the parson’s nose and the neck. Harry would have his Christmas dinner and once he had, she would take him for a walk.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  �
�Are you sure you don’t need any help with the planting? I mean, you don’t need to go down there today, do you? It is Christmas.’

  It was the third time Sally had asked her father if he needed her assistance and pointed out to him that it was Christmas Day. His response on this third occasion was even brusquer than on the previous two.

  ‘Do you think I’m infirm or something? I do know how to plant a few carrots and vegetables, you know!’

  ‘I only asked,’ she said, raising her hands in submission. ‘I was only offering.’

  ‘You’ve got your own work to do, running this house.’

  ‘Pierre is willing to help.’

  His face darkened. ‘No need. I can manage and, anyway, I like a bit of time to myself.’

  Sally sighed and gave up. It had taken her some time to get her father to snap out of the melancholia he’d suffered ever since her mother had died. She’d lost count of the times she’d attempted to get him to take an interest in something – anything – that would help him become yet again the father she’d known. Things had improved, though he still had his moments.

  It hadn’t been their habit to buy each other presents at Christmas so it came as something of a surprise when her father handed her a set of embroidered handkerchiefs, blue forget-me-nots in each corner.

  ‘It was the last they had,’ he said, somewhat shyly.

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ All her reservations fell away.

  He looked bashful when she kissed his cheek.

  ‘I bought you socks,’ she said handing him a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. ‘It was the last they had too. I think I’ll be knitting them from now on.’

  Secretly she was glad he didn’t want her to accompany him and she knew he was all right down at the allotment by himself. In the meantime she had her own life to lead.

  ‘Dinner smells good,’ he commented as he reached for his old army greatcoat.

  ‘Stuffed bullock’s heart, roast potatoes, cabbage and carrots. I had to queue for all of it. Must say I’m looking forward to the day when you’re bringing vegetables up from the allotment.’