Sing Them Home

by Pam Weaver

  ‘Thank you,’ said Pip. ‘I will.’ She stood to leave.

  ‘There is one other thing,’ said the ward sister. Seeing her serious expression, Pip lowered herself back down onto the chair. ‘Your son’s friend Gideon Powell. I’m afraid he didn’t make it. Gideon died at four this morning. I thought it would be better if you told Georgie.’

  Pip swallowed hard. Oh no! After all they’d been through. They’d survived the war virtually unscathed, but on the very day peace came, both she and her son had lost a dear friend. Poor Mr and Mrs Powell. They’d been faced with every parent’s nightmare. Pip could think of nothing worse than losing your own child. The sister stood up. Pip stood as well. ‘Thank you,’ she said hoarsely.

  To Pip’s immense relief, Georgie was sitting up in bed playing with a woodpecker on a stick. It was a toy designed for a much younger child, but Georgie was fascinated as he put the woodpecker to the top of the stick and watched it slide to the bottom. The bird was attached to a round disc with a spring on the side. Perfectly balanced, it gave the appearance that the woodpecker was pecking its way down.

  Her son was delighted to see her, and as Pip helped him to dress, she explained that Uncle Gordon was in the ward next door. ‘I think you should take the opportunity to go and thank him, don’t you?’ she said.

  Georgie nodded but seemed a bit nervous. ‘Is he badly hurt?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said, realizing that Georgie was worried that he might see something scary. How was he going to react when he discovered his friend was dead? ‘We won’t stay long,’ she promised. ‘Just long enough for you to say thank you.’

  The patient was at the far end of the ward. They walked past patients who were sleeping, some reading the newspaper and others just lying quietly on their bed. Gordon Harris was sitting up, but he had his eyes closed. Pip took in her breath. She had never been formally introduced, but a neighbour had pointed him out one day, and she recognized him from the photograph at one end of Dorcas’s mantelpiece. And now she probably owed her son’s life to this man!

  He had a bandage on his head and another on his right hand, with what looked like splints sticking out from it. Pip’s heartbeat quickened. Should she say who she was? Should she mention Lillian? Did he even know about his wife’s death? He was dressed in a hospital gown, but his clothes were in the locker. The door was open and she could see them hanging out. His army boots were thick with dust.

  Georgie tugged at her hand. Pip cleared her throat and Gordon opened his eyes.

  ‘Apparently,’ she began uncertainly, ‘you saved my son’s life. We’ve come to say thank you.’ Oh Lord, she hadn’t meant that to sound so formal and unfeeling.

  ‘Thank you,’ Georgie said dutifully.

  Gordon looked at him and smiled. ‘That’s all right, son,’ he said. ‘You take care now.’

  ‘If there is anything I can do for you . . .’ Pip went on. ‘Wash your clothes, clean your boots . . .’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said.

  As it was impossible to shake his hand, Pip nodded. She and Georgie turned to go, and two men in mackintoshes came into the room. They headed straight for Gordon’s bed and stood on either side of it. Pip, ushering Georgie towards the door, didn’t turn round, but she heard one man say, ‘I am a police officer. Gordon Chester Harris, you are under arrest for the murder of Lillian Anne Harris—’

  ‘What?’ Gordon shouted. ‘What are you saying? Are you telling me my wife is dead?’

  The ward sister sailed past Pip with an angry expression on her face and an argument followed. Pip was doing her best to push an open-mouthed Georgie into the corridor before the policemen had finished. She managed it, but not before they had both seen Gordon being handcuffed to the bed.

  CHAPTER 38

  By the time she got home, Pip realized that she had no alternative but to tell Georgie and Hazel what had happened. Her father and Elspeth had to leave the house to see an old friend who lived in East Preston, so she and the children soon found themselves alone. It seemed the right moment. Hazel burst into tears. Pip held her close and stroked her hair.

  ‘That policeman arrested Mr Harris, didn’t he, Mummy?’ said Georgie.

  ‘Yes, he did,’ said Pip.

  ‘It wasn’t Mr Harris,’ said Georgie. ‘I bet it was the German spy.’

  Pip frowned. ‘What German spy?’

  ‘The one who used to smoke in the alleyway,’ said Georgie.

  Oh my goodness, thought Pip. He must mean the man she’d seen lurking by the hedge. She’d forgotten all about him.

  ‘You should have told me about him,’ said Pip.

  ‘I couldn’t, Mummy. Billy said girls can’t deal with the big stuff like spies and things.’

  Pip gave him a watery smile. Hazel sat up and she wiped her daughter’s tear-stained face.

  ‘Why did Auntie Lillian die?’ Hazel whimpered. ‘I didn’t want her to be dead.’

  ‘Nobody does, darling,’ said Pip, struggling to push away her own feelings of grief and loss, ‘but it can’t be undone.’

  ‘We saw the police arresting Uncle Gordon,’ said Georgie, his statement a mixture of shock and excitement. ‘They put some handcuffs on his wrist.’

  ‘Georgie,’ Pip cautioned.

  Hazel’s eyes grew wide. ‘Did he really do it, Mummy?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Pip. She had no reason to believe what she was telling her children, but would a cold-blooded killer rush to save several small boys trapped in a derelict building? It hardly made sense.

  ‘Do you think we should tell the police about the German spy?’ Georgie asked.

  ‘I think perhaps we should,’ said Pip, ‘but not today. The sister on the ward said you have to rest, remember?’ She pulled the blanket up and gave him a book.

  Hazel wanted to go round to Lillian’s to play with Flora, but Mrs Armitage had already told Pip that Dorcas had taken her granddaughter to Lancing for a while.

  ‘Not today, darling,’ she said, and anxious to bring some sense of normality back into the house, she added, ‘How about you and I go into the kitchen and make something nice for tea?’

  Stella and Pip didn’t meet up for a couple of days. Leaving Elspeth and her father as willing babysitters, Pip set off to walk to Salisbury Road. The day was typical of the onset of summer: blustery, cold and wet. On the way, she called into Thurloe House, the local police station, a rather forbidding Victorian building on the High Street. Known locally as ‘the Gallows’, it had gained its nickname after a Victorian policeman had spotted two men loitering outside a shop across the road. After the men were arrested, it transpired that they were wanted for the murder of a man in Portslade. They were tried, convicted and hung.

  Pip wanted to talk to Gordon, but she was told he had already been transferred to Lewis Prison to await his trial.

  ‘I suppose there can be no doubt?’ she asked the detective constable.

  ‘None whatsoever,’ he said firmly.

  ‘It’s just that he saved my boy’s life,’ said Pip. ‘It seems a little odd that a murderer would hang around after doing such a thing. Wouldn’t it be more likely that he would make a run for it?’

  The detective constable smiled. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, madam,’ he said, ‘I think you’ve been watching too many American films.’

  ‘But he seemed awfully surprised when you arrested him,’ Pip protested.

  ‘Don’t be fooled by a bit of acting,’ said the detective constable. ‘This is a cut-and-dried case. He’s been a POW for the duration of the war. He comes home to find his wife all dolled up and on the stage. He doesn’t like it, and what’s more, she’s been playing around. He finds out. He doesn’t like that either. She wants a divorce. They argue. He loses his temper and bashes her over the head. It’s a story that’s as old as the hills.’

  Pip frowned. There were so many things that didn’t add up. ‘Yes, except—’ she began, but the detective constable was having none of it.


  ‘Now, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, Mrs Sinclair,’ he said, coming round the desk, putting his hand between her shoulder blades and giving her an encouraging push towards the door. ‘We’ve got our man, and you mark my words, he’ll hang for it.’

  Outside in the road, Pip bristled with anger. Pompous ass. How dare he be so patronizing? She was still annoyed when she got to Stella’s place.

  They sat in her newly decorated sitting room and tried to console each other. First, there were tears and memories. The night they’d all slept in this very room in 1942 when the Heinkel came down, Lillian learning to drive, the times when they’d practised their routine, the midnight-blue material followed by the siren suits and headscarves . . . The list was endless.

  ‘Do you think everyone realizes what’s happened?’ said Stella.

  ‘I should think so,’ said Pip. ‘Bad news travels fast.’

  ‘I was thinking about Mr Knight and Betty,’ said Stella. ‘They followed Lillian wherever she went.’

  ‘He was beginning to annoy her,’ said Pip with a sigh.

  ‘I know,’ said Stella, ‘but when all is said and done, he was a loyal admirer.’

  Pip frowned.

  ‘What are you really thinking?’ Stella went on. ‘You think the police have made a mistake about Gordon, don’t you?’

  So she reminded Stella about the single place laid on the kitchen table and the untouched meal. Lillian hadn’t been expecting Gordon. She was eating alone. Then there was the mud on the kitchen floor. Lillian would never have gone to bed and left such a mess.

  As she went on, Pip could see by her face that Stella had begun to share her concerns, so she mentioned the open front door. ‘We all know it has a funny catch. Anyone who had been to the house before would know how to close it. If it had been Gordon, he would have closed the door behind him. No matter what he’d done, he would never have left Flora alone upstairs with an open front door.’

  Stella listened with a grave face as Pip went on to talk about the pulley that had been down for the washing, though as far as she could remember, there was no sign of any washing in the kitchen.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Stella. ‘All the surfaces were bare.’

  ‘Gordon’s shoes were sticking out of his locker in the hospital,’ Pip went on. ‘They were dusty but not muddy. In fact, the more I think about it, I reckon Gordon was sleeping in that derelict house. That’s why they found his kitbag in the rubble.’

  ‘So if Gordon didn’t do it,’ said Stella, ‘who did?’

  ‘I don’t want to jump to conclusions,’ said Pip cautiously, ‘but I’m beginning to wonder about Mr Knight.’

  ‘Mr Knight!’ cried Stella.

  ‘At first, I thought the man I saw hanging around in the alleyway at night was Gordon Harris,’ said Pip, ‘but the more I think about it, it could have been Mr Knight.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Stella.

  ‘Why not?’ said Pip. ‘I think we both agree that he had an unhealthy fixation on her, and when I found all those dog-ends in Georgie’s pocket, it was ages ago, long before Gordon came back home.’

  ‘That’s creepy,’ said Stella. ‘He’s much older. Oh, Pip, Lillian was so full of life.’ Stella blew her nose for the umpteenth time. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone.’

  ‘Of one thing I am certain,’ said Pip. ‘I don’t believe for one minute that Gordon killed her.’

  Stella looked at her steadily. ‘Neither do I now.’

  CHAPTER 39

  Iris had just begun to clear up in the cafe. She used to give herself a good fifteen minutes to pack up, but just lately she’d needed a little more time. She was getting slower and there was so much to do. She had to wipe all the tables and sometimes the chairs as well. People left crumbs everywhere. The children were the worst. They thought nothing of putting their jammy hands all over the backs of the chairs or hiding bits of pie behind the menu. After she’d cleaned them all, she had to wipe down the shelves and remove any stale buns. The sinks had to be scoured and the teapot emptied. After a busy day, it was hard going, and she couldn’t even put her feet up when she got home because there was Mother to see to.

  The cafe was open from seven-thirty to five, and it irritated her when someone came in five minutes before closing time, but somebody always did. The doorbell jangled at ten to five.

  ‘We’re closed,’ she said sharply. She was bending down to put the empty milk bottles in the crate ready for the milkman in the morning.

  ‘We know,’ said a gentle voice. ‘That’s why we’ve come to see you.’

  She rose to her feet to see Pip and Stella in the doorway.

  ‘Could we have a word?’ said Pip.

  ‘Of course,’ said Iris, flustered and surprised.

  ‘Mind if I wheel the baby in?’ asked Stella.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Iris. ‘Be my guest.’

  ‘We’ve something important to tell you and Mr Knight and Betty,’ Pip went on.

  ‘They’ll be here in a minute,’ said Iris. ‘They always help me finish up.’

  Pip held the door and Stella wheeled Timothy Michael inside. ‘I remember Lillian telling me that once,’ she said.

  The expression on Iris’s face didn’t alter. As she took the empty milk bottles outside, Pip whispered to Stella, ‘She doesn’t know.’

  ‘We heard about that old house collapsing and your boy being inside,’ said Iris. ‘Is he all right?’

  Pip nodded. ‘Yes, thank you. He’s back home now and will recover fully given time.’

  They could hear Betty rolling down the shutter on the ticket office, and a moment or two later, she joined Iris behind her counter. At virtually the same moment, Mr Knight came into the shop and turned the sign on the door before locking it behind him. He jumped when he saw Timothy Michael’s pram tucked away in the corner.

  ‘Mrs Sinclair and Mrs Bell have something to say to us,’ said Iris. She had made a fresh pot of tea and was pouring everyone a cup. Pip reached for her handbag and purse, but Iris shook her head. ‘On the house,’ she said brusquely. ‘So what’s this all about?’

  Pip glanced at Stella, but she avoided eye contact.

  ‘We’ve come about Lillian,’ Pip began.

  ‘What’s the little minx been up to now?’ Mr Knight said acidly.

  His remark took both of them by surprise. ‘Why do you say that?’ Stella asked. ‘I thought you were an admirer of hers.’

  ‘I’m very disappointed in that girl,’ said Mr Knight. ‘I had her down as a good wife and mother, but I’ve changed my mind.’ He was busy doing up the buttons on his coat. ‘I’m afraid I shan’t be stopping for my tea tonight, Mrs Keegan,’ he added stiffly.

  ‘Mr Knight,’ Pip called as he returned to the door, ‘please don’t go. This is very important.’

  ‘Anything you have to say about Mrs Harris is of no concern to me,’ he said huffily. ‘I wash my hands of her.’ He turned to unlock the door.

  ‘Mr Knight, Lillian is dead.’

  Everyone in the room froze.

  ‘Oh no, no!’ cried Betty.

  Iris took in her breath noisily. ‘Dead? What do you mean, dead? What happened?’

  Mr Knight turned slowly. His face was white.

  ‘We found her,’ said Pip, her eyes beginning to fill.

  ‘She was dead in her bed,’ said Stella, slipping her arm through Pip’s and giving her an encouraging squeeze. ‘And her husband, Gordon, has been arrested for her murder.’

  There was a collective gasp. Mr Knight came back to the counter.

  ‘Sweet Jesus,’ said Iris, crossing herself. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘We came because we weren’t sure if you knew,’ said Pip. ‘You’ve always been such faithful followers of hers.’

  Mr Knight lowered himself into a chair. ‘Gordon arrested, you say?’

  Pip laid a gentle hand on Mr Knight’s shoulder. He seemed genuinely shocked and surprised. She could feel his body trembling unde
r his coat. ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘At the Connaught,’ he mumbled. ‘She was magnificent.’

  ‘I stopped going when I saw her kissing that Monty bloke,’ said Betty.

  ‘They all do that,’ said Ron dismissively. ‘It’s show business.’

  ‘Well I was very upset about it,’ said Betty. ‘First the pianist and then that Monty. It isn’t right, I tell you. I mean, she’s a married woman.’

  ‘With a child,’ Iris interjected.

  ‘But you both came to the street party to hear the Sussex Sisters for the last time,’ said Stella.

  Mr Knight looked slightly awkward.

  ‘Ron and I only went there because he was going to give her a piece of his mind,’ Betty interjected.

  ‘Hush, woman,’ Mr Knight snapped. He glanced over at Pip. ‘Betty always told me she was a wrong-un but I didn’t want to believe it, see?’

  ‘What made you change your mind?’ asked Stella.

  ‘Gordon told me she wanted a divorce,’ he said bitterly, his lip curling. ‘You women, you’re all the same. That man gave the best years of his life to serve king and country and when he comes home, she tosses him aside like an old rag.’

  ‘I’m sorry she’s gone,’ said Iris tossing her head, ‘but I for one won’t be shedding a tear.’

  ‘I admit I was annoyed with her,’ said Ron, recovering slightly, ‘but I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.’

  Pip’s eyes went to the lapel on Betty’s coat. The material on the left side was slightly faded, and then she remembered the brooch. Obviously Betty had dropped it again. Pip knew she had seen it quite recently, but where?

  ‘I can’t take it in,’ said Mr Knight, shaking his head. ‘Mrs Harris, Lillian gone?’ His eyes were watery. ‘In the beginning, I tried to look out for her. There are some weird people about these days, and being in the public eye, a woman as good-looking as that can attract all sorts. I never told her, but I often used to stand in the alley behind her house until she’d gone to bed. Just keeping her safe, that’s all.’

  ‘Like a father to her, he was,’ said Betty.