by Anna King
‘Now that’s more like it,’ said a jubilant Nobby, who was determined to have at least one dance with Grace before the evening ended.
Snuggled warmly in Nobby’s arms, Grace laid her head on his broad shoulder, while the singer in the band gave a tear-jerking rendition of ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’. When the music stopped, they remained as they were, loath to be separated. Then the band continued with the softer music by playing ‘Moonlight Serenade’. When they stopped playing, Grace and Nobby stood still, hopeful of another slow dance, but they were disappointed. Without seeming to stop for breath, the small band immediately launched into another swing-dance tune.
Yet even seated back at their table, with Nobby’s arms still holding her close, Grace could feel the wonderful intimacy they had shared during those two short songs, and found herself wishing the feeling could go on for ever.
They left the club at eleven, but no sooner had they stepped outside than the high-pitched wail of the siren went off. Almost instantaneously dozens of searchlights lit up the sky. Scores of people, all of them praying it would be a short raid, headed for the nearby shelters, but it was over an hour before the all-clear sounded.
Dishevelled, tired, and above all extremely thirsty, Grace climbed out of the shelter hand in hand with Nobby, to be met by the sickly sweet smell of cordite, burning wood and the air thick with brick dust. The street had been hit hard by the German bombers, and Grace watched with tears in her eyes as hordes of people scrabbled among the ruins of then- homes, trying to salvage what was left of their possessions.
Then she felt her arm being pulled roughly.
‘Come on, love. There’s nothing we can do here. The ambulances and fire engines will be here shortly.’
Puzzled as to why Nobby was trying to rush her along, Grace looked over her shoulder, her legs almost giving way at the gruesome sight of a man lying in the gutter, his head yards away from his body. Oh God! She was going to be sick, or pass out, or both.
Leaning against Nobby’s chest she cried piteously, ‘Get me away from here, please, Nobby, get me away.’
Within ten minutes they were in Nobby’s flat, and the first thing he did was to pour them both a large measure of brandy. He had seen too many dead bodies to be as affected by the sight of the decapitated man as Grace had been. Yet he had never become completely immune to the sight of the dead. When it was children, that was different – then the grief was compounded with hatred and rage against the men who had butchered the helpless innocents. Faceless men, dropping their deadly cargo on to the ground below, not even thinking of the deaths they caused, because it was their job. Just as it had been his job when Churchill had ordered the raids on Berlin in retaliation for the merciless bombing during the Blitz.
Throwing back his brandy he quickly poured himself another, wondering how many children he had killed or maimed as he had rained his bombs down on the city below. But a bomber pilot couldn’t think like that. They were given orders and carried them out without question. Even so, every now and then, like this evening, seeing the devastation and the bodies of the unfortunate few who hadn’t made it to the shelters on time, brought it all back. So what gave him the right to condemn the German pilots who dropped their bombs indiscriminately? He was no better than they were. He too had blood on his hands, and no matter how many times he argued with himself that they were at war, he still had trouble at times in justifying his actions.
‘Could I have another one, please, Nobby? I’m still shaking.’
Nobby jumped at the sound of Grace’s voice. He had almost forgotten she was there. As he refilled her glass he said, ‘I’d better phone Aggie to let her know we’re all right, and to make sure they are too. You’ll have to stay here tonight, Grace. There’s no telling just how much damage has been done, and I doubt there’ll be any kind of transport running after this little lot.’
‘All right, Nobby,’ Grace said absently, her mind still trying to shake off the horrific sight she had witnessed. ‘Can I have a wash? I feel filthy.’
As he dialled Aggie’s number, Nobby nodded.
‘The bathroom’s through there.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the small hallway. ‘Oh, Aggie… Yeah, we’re both all right, how about you lot?’
Grace waited, then smiled weakly as Nobby held up a thumb, indicating that everything was all right at home. Her legs still shaky, she entered the bathroom and washed her face and hands, then rinsed her hair under the tap with some soap, wishing fervently she could climb into a piping-hot bath filled with lashings of bath oil up to her neck. As it was she had to make do with tidying herself up as best she could.
When she came out, Nobby was waiting in the sitting room, a pair of large blue pyjamas wrapped over his arm. Grace took the clean garments gratefully, quickly taking off her soiled clothes while Nobby was himself having a wash.
She picked up her glass of brandy and took a long sip, her mind going round in circles. That could have been either of them lying dead in the street tonight. Up until now she had never fully appreciated just how precarious life was. It was something she had tried not to dwell on. But now, having seen how frail human life was, and how quickly it could be wiped out, it caused her to rethink her own life. Looking towards the bathroom door she admitted to herself for the first time that she was in love with Nobby, really in love; a love that bore no resemblance to the feelings she’d had for Stanley. And Nobby felt the same way about her. What if they had been killed tonight in the raid? What if they’d never had the chance to tell each other how they felt? And, more importantly, what if they’d never had the chance to express that love to its fullest extent? A slow, burning rush of excitement rippled through her body. Maybe it was the brandy making her reckless, or maybe she was just being honest with herself about what she wanted. And she wanted Nobby, wanted him in her arms, in his bed, their bodies entwined together.
Grace threw back the last of her brandy and laid back on the armchair, waiting for Nobby to emerge from the bathroom. Tonight had brought home forcibly just how precious life was – and she wasn’t going to waste another minute of it.
‘You look thoughtful. Not frightened I’m gonna suddenly jump on yer and inflict a fate worse than death, are you?’
Nobby stood in the doorway grinning mischievously while rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Going over to wind up the gramophone, he selected a record and placed it on the turntable. ‘Well, yer don’t have to worry, Gracie. You can trust me, though it’ll stretch me willpower to the limit, and—’
‘Oh, I know I can trust you, Nobby.’ Grace was gazing up at the tall figure, the love she felt for this man showing in every contour of her face and body. ‘It’s myself I don’t trust. That’s why I’ve always asked Polly along with us. But these past few weeks, I’ve begun to resent her always being there. I wouldn’t admit it to myself at first, but now, after seeing that poor man, I realised there would be no more tomorrows for him. No chance to achieve any goals he might have had, or maybe he’d just been putting off something he’d been meaning to do and never got round to it, telling himself there was always tomorrow. That could have been us lying dead in the street, Nobby, with no chance to be together ever again, no chance of belonging to each other. I want you, Nobby. I want you to take me to bed and love me, even if it is the only time it ever happens; at least I’ll have the memory of this night.’
Nobby’s eyes were alight with adoration. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to the empty brandy glass.
As if reading his mind, Grace said softly, ‘No, it’s not the drink that’s talking. All it’s done is given me the courage to tell you how I really feel about you.’
Walking slowly towards her, Nobby bent down and gently picked her up in his arms, while Grace’s slender arms wrapped themselves around his neck. Trembling with anticipation, Grace buried her face into Nobby’s neck, and when he laid her down lovingly on to the quilted cover of his bed, she felt no fear or guilt. Perhaps tomorrow she might
feel some remorse, but tonight belonged to her and Nobby, and she was going to make the most of every treasured moment.
The melodious voice from the gramophone in other room sang softly, ‘I’m gonna love you, like nobody’s loved you, come rain or come shine’.
And Nobby did just that.
Chapter Twenty-two
Aggie was having a short break from the housework, her huge hands clamped around a mug of steaming Camp coffee, with two digestive biscuits balanced on her knee as an extra treat. With the house to herself she let her mind wander aimlessly, her ever-active brain leaping from one thought to another. Although the war was far from over, there was a new optimism in the air, now that the threat of invasion had been lifted.
Her eyes flickered towards the clock on the kitchen wall, and with an impatient click of her tongue, she quickly downed the last of the coffee before debating whether to give the floor a good wash or start on the pile of stockings waiting to be darned. No! She’d do the floor, the darning could always be done later that evening while she was listening to the wireless. It would give her something to do and take her mind off her worries. As the thought crossed her mind, Aggie shook her head. What worries? she demanded of herself. You ain’t got anything ter worry about. All the girls had jobs, so there was no need to worry about money. Polly’s friendship with Linda Castle was still going strong, in fact the pair seemed to be joined at the hip at times. Then there was Vi, still head over heels with that Yank, Chuck Downing. He had been transferred overseas some three months ago, but he wrote faithfully every week, sometimes twice, promising to get back to London as soon as it was humanly possible. Aggie hardly recognised her headstrong granddaughter these days. Gone were the sullen silences, the bitchy remarks, and the air of superiority that had always got up Aggie’s nose. The two women hadn’t been so close since Vi’s adolescence, and Aggie was glad of the change.
As Aggie half-filled her bucket to wash the floor, she thought wryly that, six months ago, she would never have thought that out of her three granddaughters it would be Grace who would cause her concern. Yet that’s what had happened. It was obvious that Grace was having an affair with Nobby – at least it was obvious to her. She didn’t know if Vi or Polly suspected, but if they did, they hadn’t said anything; not to her anyway.
Sighing heavily, Aggie knelt awkwardly on the floor, her bucket and scrubbing brush close to hand. The only thing that mattered to her was seeing her granddaughters happy, and Grace was happier now than she’d been in a very long while, as were the other two. But Gracie’s happiness couldn’t last, not unless Stanley didn’t return home…! Aghast at the callousness of her thoughts, Aggie plunged the scrubbing brush into the soapy water and began to wash the floor with such ferocity that the knuckles of her hands turned white. God Almighty! What a thing to think of. To practically wish for the death of someone, just to make life easier. ‘I didn’t mean it. Oh, Lord! I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t wish Stanley no harm, honest I wouldn’t.’
Ever since that first and only communication from the Home Office to inform Grace that Stanley had been taken prisoner, there had been no other news. The poor sod could be anywhere for all they knew. And when last year, on 3 September 1943, the Allies had invaded Italy, prompting the Italians to surrender six days later, the officers and guards had simply walked out of the camps, leaving the prisoners to fend for themselves. Many of the men had died waiting for the Allies to arrive, but a good majority of the poor creatures had been rescued and taken to military hospitals. Back in England, thousands of families had waited eagerly for news, hoping some of the rescued would include their husband’s, sons or brothers, but no such letter had arrived at the Donnelly household.
Preoccupied as she was with her private thoughts, Aggie didn’t hear the front door open and close until a sneering voice said, ‘Say one for me while you’re down there.’
As always, the sound of Beryl’s voice sent Aggie’s hackles rising. But before she could make a suitable retort, Grace, who had come into the house behind Beryl, cried in exasperation, ‘Nan! How many times do I have to tell you to leave the heavy housework for me and Poll. Now get up from there and into the sitting room and put your feet up.’
Beryl, her well-built body making for the larder, said harshly, ‘For Gawd’s sake, she ain’t gonna drop dead from washing the bleeding floor, is she.’ While beneath her breath she added, ‘Worse luck.’
Immediately Grace turned on her sister-in-law. ‘No she won’t. Not while I’m around to prevent it. You’d better be careful, Beryl, because one of these days you’ll bite that spiteful tongue of yours, and that alone will poison you. And you can get your sticky hands out of our larder. You’re always stuffing your face these days, well not any more. In future you’ll either contribute to the housekeeping money or buy your own. I’m sick of you sponging off us, and when Uncle Danny comes home on leave next week, I’ll tell him as well.’
Beryl, her face white with temper, slammed the larder shut, saying harshly, ‘You can tell your precious uncle what yer want, lady muck, but I’d save yer breath if I was you, ’cos once I get him upstairs, he’ll believe anything I tell him. So if yer know what’s good fer yer, keep yer mouth shut and yer nose outta me business.’
Incensed at the hated woman’s tone, Grace sprang across the room, and as the two women faced each other in mutual dislike, Aggie, standing by the door, eyed them both wearily. Beryl wasn’t in the house much lately, using it like a hotel when it suited her, but when she was at home, there was always an atmosphere, and more often than not, an argument with one of them.
Her voice sounding tired, Aggie said, ‘Leave it, Gracie, love, she ain’t worth it.’
Aggie appraised the two women, both looking as if they’d like to tear each other apart, and it was as they both turned around, both showing their profiles, that Aggie’s heart kicked hard against her ribs, followed by a rising sense of panic. Oh, no! Her eyes were playing tricks on her, surely. She wouldn’t be so stupid or careless to get herself caught out. But there before her eyes was the evidence. Gawd Almighty! How hadn’t she noticed before?
Her weariness lifting, she strode towards the table, and, grasping the edges, she asked in horrified disbelief, ‘Yer up the spout, ain’t yer? About four months gone by the looks of yer. Yer silly mare, how could yer have been so bleeding careless?’
Two heads turned towards her, then Beryl, her face flushed, blustered, ‘I don’t know what yer talking about. Yer should get yer eyes seen to. You’re going doo-lally in yer old age. Anyway, what if I was – which I ain’t,’ Beryl’s head came up defiantly. ‘But just supposing I was pregnant, so what? I’m a married woman, there’s no shame in it.’
Staring at the painted face with incredulity, Aggie shook her head slowly. Then, her voice deceptively soft, she said, ‘Well, well! All these years I’ve known Danny, and I never twigged there was something extra special about him. In fact, he’s got something so rare, I think I’ll write to the newspapers about him.’
Warily now, Beryl looked into the wrinkled face. ‘What you on about, yer daft old bat?’
Aggie’s lips spread into a chilling smile as she answered, ‘Well, it’s obvious, ain’t it. If that’s Danny’s child you’re carrying, then he must have the longest cock in the world. He’d have ter have, wouldn’t he, ter be able to stretch it across the English Channel, halfway across London and up the stairs ter your room.’ The smile dropping from her face, Aggie glared into Beryl’s eyes with open disgust. ‘No wonder yer was so bleeding happy about him getting leave. Oh, I can read yer sort like a book. You’ll have him at it morning, noon and night while he’s here, then I suppose you’ll have ter write and tell him at some point that the baby’s arrived early. In fact yer won’t even have ter tell him that, will yer, ’cos he ain’t gonna know when it was born. Not unless the war ends before you’re due, an’ I can’t see that happening. Then again, you’ll have ter have a birth certificate, but I suppose that’ll go conveniently missing, won�
�t it?’
Leaning up against the larder, Grace looked on in shocked silence, unable to utter a word. Then Beryl, her confidence returning, looked first to Aggie and then to Grace, and asked scornfully, ‘And which one of you is gonna tell him, eh?’ Bouncing her head at Aggie, she shouted, ‘More ter the point, when was yer thinking of telling him? As soon as he steps through the door? And knowing your dear Danny, what effect d’yer think it’ll have on him, eh? Especially as he’ll be going straight back into the line of fire after his leave’s up.’
Feeling more in charge of the situation now, Beryl drawled spitefully, ‘He’ll go back under enemy lines, knowing his wife’s got herself knocked up by another bloke. How d’yer think he’ll cope with that? It’s amazing he’s stayed alive this long, ’cos while we’re being honest, we might as well be blunt as well. And the fact is that Danny’s not cut out for soldiering. He hates every minute of every battle he’s forced in to. His conscience bothers him every time he’s forced to kill, he’s told me. Know what else he told me?’ The kitchen was eerily quiet except for Beryl’s rapid breathing. ‘He told me he sometimes hesitates before pulling the trigger because he hates the thought of taking a life. So how long d’yer think he’ll last if he goes back knowing he’s been made a mug of? His mind will be so jumbled up he won’t know what he’s doing. He’ll be lucky to last a week without catching a bullet. So you think on that, the pair of you, before yer think of blabbing yer mouths off.’
When no answer came, Beryl’s head bobbed in satisfaction. She had them in the palm of her hand. They wouldn’t say anything to Danny, not now; they wouldn’t dare take the chance; they loved the silly old fool too much.