Sing Them Home

by Pam Weaver

  And I bet you stayed for a couple of pints, she thought acidly. She could smell the beer on his breath. Betty wrinkled her nose slightly. She’d soon put a stop to that when they were wed.

  ‘Come in,’ she said cheerfully. She led the way to the kitchen. ‘Gordon, maybe you could bring that hall chair with you and I’ll lay another place.’

  ‘Summat smells good,’ said Ron as he came up behind her. Betty felt a warm glow of pleasure. Ron moved a little closer. ‘The poor lad got himself locked up last night,’ he went on. ‘Some mouthy bastard insulted his wife, so he punched him.’

  ‘What about you?’ Betty asked.

  ‘Remind me not to stand in between next time,’ he said with a grin.

  Betty pursed her lips disapprovingly.

  There wasn’t a lot of room in her small kitchen, but they pulled the table away from the wall and made a bit more space. Betty bustled around them, taking the pie out of the oven (just in time, it would seem), draining the potatoes (which had begun to break up, so she’d have to mash them using some of her precious butter ration) and dishing up the cabbage. She heaped the men’s plates and put a much smaller portion on her own. She had planned to have enough left over for Ron to take a bit of pie home, but having Gordon here put the kibosh on that. The men tucked in.

  ‘Umm, this is champion, Betty,’ Ron said appreciatively.

  Betty lowered her eyes modestly. ‘There’s apple pie for afters,’ she said.

  Inevitably, the conversation came round to Lillian. Betty didn’t say a lot. What could she say? She was Gordon’s wife, and Ron was besotted with her.

  ‘What will you do when your demob comes?’ Ron asked. He leaned back in his chair, his plate empty.

  ‘Move away,’ said Gordon.

  Ron sat back up again. ‘Move away?’ he repeated. ‘Where?’

  Gordon shrugged. ‘As far away as possible,’ he said.

  Betty let out a secret sigh of relief.

  ‘What does Lillian think about that?’ cried Ron. ‘What about her career?’

  ‘She won’t care,’ said Gordon bitterly. ‘Why should she? She’s having the time of her life.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Ron. ‘Surely she’d want to keep up the contacts in this area. This is where she’s well known. And what about the Sussex Sisters?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ said Gordon. ‘She wants a divorce, and I want a new start.’

  The colour drained from Ron’s face. ‘You’re getting a divorce?’ he thundered. ‘What’s the matter with you, man? After all she’s done for morale, you want to get rid of her?’

  ‘Perhaps Gordon would rather not talk about this,’ Betty interjected. ‘After all, what happens between a man and his wife is a private matter.’

  Gordon was keeping his head down as he fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth.

  ‘That little lassie is a good wife and a good mother,’ said Ron. ‘You don’t know what side your bread is buttered on.’

  ‘Who wants apple pie?’ Betty said desperately.

  Gordon rose to his feet. ‘I hope you’ll excuse me, Mrs Shrimpton,’ he said stiffly, ‘but I have to go. Thank you for a lovely meal.’

  He hurried from the kitchen without a backward glance. Dilly, still shut in the bedroom, started barking again. Betty hurried after Gordon and helped him into his wet coat. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you want to go? Perhaps if we change the subject . . .’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Shrimpton,’ he said stiffly, ‘but I’m sick of people giving me their opinions when they don’t know the half of it.’

  She closed the door behind him and patted the back of her hair. ‘Be quiet, Dilly,’ she said sharply. ‘Go to your bed.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, returning to the kitchen, ‘that was a turn-up for the books.’

  ‘The man’s mad,’ said Ron. ‘A lovely wife like that . . .’

  ‘Oh, Ron, surely you must have seen what’s been going on?’

  He stared at her with a blank expression and she supposed she’d have to spell it out for him. Why were men so stupid?

  ‘The pianist,’ she went on. ‘Surely you could see the way she looked at him? I reckon they’ve been having it off for ages.’ Ron continued to stare, so she reminded him of a couple of other occasions.

  ‘Lillian was always faithful to her husband,’ he said stubbornly. ‘It’s him that doesn’t appreciate her.’

  ‘I knew what sort of woman she was from the minute I saw her,’ said Betty, dishing up his apple pie. ‘Soon after she came to work on the railway, I saw her kissing a Canadian in the Ilex Way.’ She curled her lips disapprovingly. ‘French-kissing they were, and with her little daughter standing right next to her.’

  Ron jumped to his feet, scraping the chair on the kitchen floor. His face was puce with rage. ‘You women,’ he spat. ‘You’re all the bloody same.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ Betty said indignantly.

  Ron was already in the hallway putting on his coat. Behind the bedroom door, the dog was hysterical.

  ‘What did I say?’ Betty cried as she ran after him. ‘I only told you what everybody knows. You ask Iris.’

  ‘Thanks for the meal,’ he said formally.

  ‘But you haven’t had your present yet,’ Betty wailed.

  Ron yanked the door open and stepped out into the night.

  It was about nine when Lillian heard a muffled knock on the door. She was alone in the house with Flora. As far as she knew, Gordon was still in the police cells, and her mother had gone over to Lancing. Gordon had got into a fight in a pub, and having decked a couple of the regulars, he’d been carted off by the police. Dorcas wanted to celebrate this evening with her sister, so they’d arranged for her to stay overnight and come back on the bus tomorrow in time to help with the party. The Sussex Sisters were going to sing for one last time in the evening and Lillian was looking forward to it. She wondered what peacetime would bring. She hoped it would usher in a new chapter in her life, one without Gordon and one with something much more palatable – fame and fortune. Although her mother wasn’t too keen on the idea of her and Gordon getting divorced, Dorcas had agreed to look after Flora if she had to travel, and Monty had set up some amazing contacts. It really looked as if she could be in a variety show next month, and if she was lucky, she might even get the chance to go abroad to entertain the troops in their peacekeeping role.

  She’d been in the sitting room tidying music sheets in preparation of tomorrow evening. It was fun going over all the old songs once more, though there was a slight worry that the weather might scupper their plans. It was raining cats and dogs out there right now. Pip and Stella had come round in the afternoon and they’d picked out the old songs they had sung in the group – ‘You Always Hurt the One You Love’, ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’, ‘I’ll Be With You in Apple Blossom Time’, ‘The Trolley Song’, ‘Let Him Go, Let Him Tarry’ – the list was endless, but Lillian had insisted on singing a couple of her new solos as well. ‘People like to hear me singing my new songs, and there’s no time to rehearse them together,’ she’d said. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’

  She’d laid herself a place at the table in the kitchen and dished up some macaroni cheese, which was cooling on the rack. Lillian was in her dressing gown and she pulled it around her as she reached the back door. She was just about to open it when the clothes pulley slipped a bit. Lillian ducked, but luckily it stayed where it was. She heard the sound of shuffling feet. Was it Gordon? Had they let him out of jail? She really didn’t want him here tonight, especially now that her mother wasn’t around.

  Lillian leaned towards the wooden door and called, ‘Who is it?’

  A voice on the other side said, ‘It’s me.’

  Puzzled, Lillian opened the door and the light flooded out. ‘Oh,’ she said, surprised. ‘It’s you. You’d better come in.’

  CHAPTER 34

  Flora woke up early. Now that she was six,
she washed herself and got dressed before going downstairs. She couldn’t wait to put on the lovely dress Mummy had bought her for the street party. It had pretty baskets of flowers all over it and a swirly skirt.

  In the kitchen, the big pulley was down, but Flora was able to walk underneath. Granny said they’d get it fixed someday, but nobody ever got round to it. It was very heavy, and the wooden rungs were held together at either end in an iron frame.

  Mummy wasn’t up yet, so Flora decided to get her own breakfast. There was a plate of food on the table, but it was cold and congealed, and Flora didn’t fancy eating it. The loaf in the bread bin was whole, and she knew she wasn’t allowed to use the big bread knife, but fortunately, there was half a slice next to it. It felt a bit hard, but with some jam (a little more than Mummy usually let her have), it went down a treat. There was no tea in the pot and very little milk, so she made do with a glass of water. She glanced at the clock on the wall. The big hand was on the twelve, and the little hand was on the nine. Mummy still wasn’t up yet, and last night she’d said they had to be at Auntie Pip’s by eight-thirty.

  Flora crept back upstairs and knocked softly on Mummy’s bedroom door. There was no answer. She called out. Still no answer, but as Flora pushed the door, it opened slowly. She knew she wasn’t allowed in Mummy’s bedroom any more, but seeing that Mummy was alone in the big bed, she was very tempted to run in and jump on top of her. She chewed her lip for a while before deciding not to do it. This was a very special day and she didn’t want to make Mummy cross.

  ‘Mummy,’ she said softly. ‘Can I come in?’

  Her mother had her back to her and she didn’t move.

  ‘Mummy,’ Flora said a little louder, ‘we have to go to Auntie Pip’s. We’re going to be late.’ She hung around, but her mother remained still. ‘Shall I go first?’

  Puzzled and hurt, Flora went downstairs. When the little hand was between the nine and the ten, and the big hand was on the three, she put on her coat and ran to the back door. It only took a minute to get to Auntie Pip’s.

  As Georgie opened the door, Flora heard Auntie Pip call from the kitchen, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s only Flora,’ said Georgie, stepping back to let her in.

  Auntie Pip came out of the kitchen. There was flour on her apron and some on her cheek as well. ‘Now, you kids are going to have to make yourselves scarce if we’re going to get this party under way. Auntie Stella, your mum and I have a lot to do.’

  ‘Did I hear my name being taken in vain?’ said a voice behind Flora. Auntie Stella was coming up the path with the big Silver Cross pram. Inside, Timothy Michael was fast asleep.

  Hazel came bounding downstairs. ‘Can we take Timothy Michael for a walk?’

  Auntie Stella hesitated, but when Flora joined in with, ‘Oh, please, Auntie Stella, please . . .’ she relented.

  ‘All right, but not too far, and if he wakes up and starts to cry, bring him straight back.’

  ‘Hazel, ask Maisie at number four to go with you,’ said Pip. ‘She’s a sensible girl.’

  ‘Oh, Mummy,’ Hazel protested.

  ‘Run along now,’ said Pip, ‘and be back by lunchtime.’ She turned to her son. ‘Georgie, make sure you’re home by then as well. We start at two o’clock.’

  The children set off.

  ‘Flora,’ Pip called as they reached the garden gate, ‘where’s your mother?’

  ‘In bed,’ said Flora.

  Pip and Stella were making good headway with the sandwiches. A couple of other neighbours had joined them in the kitchen, and with pooled resources the mountain was growing. Pip had knocked up some fairy cakes, and Mrs Armitage from the corner house had dug out half a packet of icing sugar. It was almost solid, but after some patient sieving using the back of a spoon, it was eventually usable.

  Outside in the street, the men were putting up the trestle tables. They’d set them in a ‘V’ shape, and other neighbours were putting white sheets over the top. Men were up ladders hanging bunting and Union Jacks, while the women began laying the tables. Everywhere there was the sound of whistling, and the jokes and banter came a-plenty.

  ‘Is somebody going to say grace before we eat?’ one of the women called out.

  ‘If my wife’s been baking them cakes, it’ll be better to pray after we’ve eaten,’ said a male voice.

  ‘Oh, you naughty boy, Jack Armitage,’ another woman cried. ‘I thought you were happily married.’

  ‘My wife and I had twenty very happy years,’ said Jack. ‘And then we met.’ His wife cuffed him on the arm as everyone enjoyed the joke.

  At ten to eleven, there was still no sign of Lillian. Pip had moved from being cross and thinking she was getting out of all the work to genuine concern.

  ‘She must have a hangover,’ Stella joked. ‘From what I hear, that was quite a party in the pub last night.’

  Pip, who was busy making tea for all the helpers, suddenly looked up with an anxious expression. ‘Lillian was on her own last night,’ she said. ‘She would never have gone out and left Flora alone in the house.’

  ‘So why isn’t she here?’ said Stella, wide-eyed.

  Leaving Mrs Armitage to pour the teas, the two friends hurried to Lillian’s place. Stella knocked but to her surprise, the front door was open. She glanced at Pip.

  ‘That’s odd,’ said Pip. ‘Flora isn’t tall enough to reach the catch, so who left the door open?’

  They went inside calling as they went. The house was silent. They searched the sitting room and the kitchen before going upstairs. The floor in the kitchen was littered with cakes of earth, mud that had dried out overnight. The overhead pulley was down. Pip looked around. That’s funny. Where were the clothes to hang on the drier? Stella went to the bottom of the stairs and called up. There was no reply. Glancing at Pip, she began to climb.

  On the third stair, Pip spotted a brooch. It looked vaguely familiar. The pin on the back was too short to do it up. Tossing it into a dish on the hallstand, she followed her friend up the stairs.

  ‘Flora said she was in bed,’ said Pip.

  At the top of the stair, Stella pushed open the first door she came to.

  ‘That’s Dorcas’s room,’ said Pip, coming up behind her. ‘The one at the end of the corridor is her room.’

  The door was ajar. They could see Lillian lying on her right side facing the wall.

  ‘Lillian,’ said Pip. ‘Lillian, are you all right?’

  The figure remained motionless. They glanced at each other, a terrible feeling of foreboding clutching at the pair of them. They walked to the bedside together and Stella reached over to touch Lillian’s shoulder. Her hand reeled back almost immediately as she gasped. ‘She’s cold.’

  Pip tugged gently at Lillian’s sleeve until she had enough leverage for her to roll back. Then they both cried out. There was dried blood on the pillow. Lillian’s face was purple and congested, and she had vomit round her mouth and on her cheek. She also had an ugly bruise just above her eye. The blood had come from her ear.

  ‘Dear God in heaven, Stella,’ Pip cried. ‘She’s dead.’

  CHAPTER 35

  At the bottom of the stairs, the two girls turned to comfort one another. They hugged and wept on each other’s shoulders until they heard the sound of children’s voices and laughter outside. They stepped back to wipe their eyes.

  ‘One of us will have to go to the phone box and ring the police,’ said Pip.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ said Stella. ‘Oh, Pip, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this has happened.’

  ‘One thing is crystal clear,’ said Pip darkly. ‘She didn’t die of natural causes.’

  ‘But who could have done such a thing?’

  Pip gave her a penetrating stare.

  Stella gasped. ‘You don’t mean . . . You can’t possibly think it was Gordon?’

  ‘Who else?’ said Pip. ‘They’ve been rowing a lot lately, and the neighbours tell me they can’t even remember the last time they sa
w him sober.’

  ‘She’s not very nice to him, I grant you,’ said Stella, ‘and she did say she wanted a divorce.’

  Pip nodded. ‘Dorcas said Gordon wasn’t too happy about that.’

  ‘Yes, but murder,’ said Stella. ‘No, no. He’s a bit of a twerp, but I can’t believe he would stoop to murder. Oh, poor Flora.’

  Pip hesitated.

  ‘What?’ said Stella, looking around nervously. ‘What is it?’

  ‘We don’t have to tell Flora just yet, do we?’ said Pip. ‘I mean, we could make sure she has a really happy afternoon first.’

  ‘But people will know there’s something wrong,’ said Stella. ‘They’ll see we’ve been crying.’

  ‘They might put that down to the fact that we’re disappointed that the Sussex Sisters won’t be singing.’

  ‘Someone is bound to ask why not,’ said Stella.

  ‘Because Lillian is in bed,’ said Pip. ‘She can’t sing.’

  Stella frowned uncomfortably.

  ‘Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?’ Pip challenged.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Stella uncertainly. ‘Oh, Pip, I’m not sure I can carry it off.’

  ‘Yes, you can,’ said Pip. ‘We’re doing it for the sake of the kids, remember?’

  Stella nodded.

  Pip squeezed her shoulder. ‘We’ve managed to keep our peckers up all through this damned war. Let’s do it for just one more day, eh?’

  ‘Do you really think it was Gordon?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Pip said helplessly. ‘I suppose it could be, couldn’t it? Perhaps he just snapped.’

  ‘Poor little Flora,’ Stella said again. ‘If they hang him, she’ll be without a mother and a father.’

  The front door began to move. They turned together, both holding their breath. As it swung right back, Dorcas was on the doorstep.

  ‘Oh, it’s you two,’ she said brightly. ‘When I saw the door open and heard your voices, I thought we might have burglars.’ She threw her overnight bag into the hallway.

  Pip and Stella glanced anxiously at each other.

  Dorcas frowned. ‘What’s up? You look a bit upset.’ Her voice became fearful. ‘Is everything all right? Where’s Flora?’