Fur Coat, No Knickers

by Anna King

  ‘It’s all right, mate. She’s alive an’ all, but like her sister she’s gonna have ter get to the hospital as quick as possible.’

  Too full of emotion to speak, Nobby once again held out his arms and took Grace tenderly from the men’s hold.

  Burying his face in the dirty hair, he sobbed, ‘Oh, Gracie, Gracie. Hold on, darling, you’re gonna be all right. You’re gonna make it, I promise.’

  The chalk-covered face looked lifeless, then the eyelids fluttered and a pair of brown eyes were gazing up at him.

  ‘No… Nobby. Is that you, Nobby?’

  A sob of relief tore at the back of Nobby’s throat as he answered, ‘Yeah, it’s me, darling. Where else would I be when you needed me?’

  Grace’s eyes closed again as she whispered, ‘Poll… and Nan, an… and Patrick…?’

  ‘Poll and the baby are fine, darling. They’re just getting Aggie out now and…’

  The doctor and a nurse bustled forward.

  ‘There, give her to us, sir, we’ll take it from here.’

  Reluctantly Nobby handed over his burden, desperate to go in the ambulance with the two girls, but knowing he couldn’t leave until he was sure Aggie was all right. Then he was pushed aside as the woman who had taken Patrick into her care gently handed over the now-silent child to the nurse, who just as gently carried the baby into the ambulance.

  Nobby watched helplessly as the ambulance sped off, then he returned to the bomb-site to await news of Aggie. But as he tried to climb the steep pile of rubble his legs suddenly gave way beneath him and he was forced to sit down and rest awhile. His back, left leg and arm were beginning to cause him extreme pain, but not for the world would he admit it. Not while Aggie was still down there in the cellar, and the street littered with dead bodies. He may well be in agony, but at least he was alive.

  A woman appeared before him with a hot mug of tea, which he accepted gratefully, gulping down the scalding liquid as if it were water. Two other men came to sit beside him, their faces weary, their bodies slumped in exhaustion. And as Nobby looked at their haggard faces he felt a rising admiration for these men who risked their lives, never stopping until they were sure there were no more bodies left alive in the ruins of the bombed-out houses – and for this heroic work, they were paid the measly sum of three pounds ten shillings a week. The woman appeared with more tea, which was again gratefully accepted.

  ‘How’s it going in there?’ Nobby jerked his aching neck behind him.

  One of the men looked at him warily, then turned to his mate before answering, ‘You’re a friend of the family, ain’t yer, mate?’

  Nobby thought he had no more emotion inside of him, but at the sound of the man’s voice he flinched, his stomach turning over painfully.

  Gulping loudly he said, ‘Yeah, I am. Why? What’s happened to Aggie… I mean the old lady?’

  Running a calloused hand over his dirt-streaked face, the man answered sympathetically, ‘I don’t know, mate, an’ that’s the truth. She’s pinned down under some beams, an’ we’re frightened to move them in case the whole ceiling falls in. I’m sorry, mate, but it don’t look good.’

  Nobby slumped back on the hard rubble, his face a picture of despair. Slowly he got to his feet and painfully returned to the house.

  ‘How about trying ter get a rope round one of the beams? We might be able to lift it off. What d’yer think, Reg?’

  The old man looked fit to drop any minute, but he stood erect, determined to see the job through.

  ‘Yeah, it’s worth a try. I don’t see as we’ve got any choice anyway. We can’t leave her down there much longer or she’ll croak fer sure.’

  Hearing the sombre words, something inside Nobby snapped. He felt his head spinning, then he was falling. He heard voices call out to him, then the darkness came up and swallowed him.

  * * *

  He came to in an ambulance, lying flat on his back on a stretcher. His first reaction was to try and sit up, then a familiar voice said croakily, ‘Lie down, lad, and have a rest. By the look of yer, yer need it.’

  As Nobby turned his head he looked straight into the vibrant eyes of Aggie Harper. Her face was covered in powder dust, and her hair was almost black with dirt, but the eyes were unmistakable – as was the voice; even choked with smoke there was no mistaking Aggie’s voice.

  A man in a white coat was bending over her, telling her to lie still and keep quiet and rest. Nobby closed his eyes, waiting for the tart retort the formidable woman would levy at the young doctor. But to his surprise, and profound relief, Aggie merely answered softly, ‘All right, Doc, anything yer say. I ain’t up ter arguing with yer, not today.’ Then her eyes closed and her head lolled to one side as the pain-killing drug the doctor had administered took effect.

  ‘Doctor!’ Nobby pulled anxiously at the white coat. ‘How is she? The last I heard she was pinned under some beams.’

  The doctor took hold of Nobby’s wrist and carefully checked his pulse before replying, ‘I won’t lie to you, sir. She’s an elderly woman, and she’s had a tremendous shock to the system, as well as lying trapped under a heavy beam for hours. She was pinned under her stomach. We won’t know if there’s any internal damage until we get her to the hospital. I’m sorry, that’s all I can tell you for now. As for you, I think you could do with some rest yourself. I’ve been told you have a back, leg and arm injury sustained during a plane crash. You must be in some considerable pain. I’ll give you something for it to make you comfortable.’

  ‘No, no, I don’t want anything, thanks, Doctor. I’m fine, really, I’m fine.’

  But the doctor had already injected the morphine. As the drug took hold and Nobby felt the familiar euphoric effect of the drug, he felt a moment of panic, remembering his dependency on the drug after the crash. Then he was floating away, the pain vanishing as if by magic, and within seconds, he too, like Aggie, was out for the count, free from suffering and worry – for the next couple of hours at least.

  * * *

  They had all been very lucky, at least that’s what the doctors had told them, but then the doctors hadn’t been buried under a pile of rubble in total darkness for over five hours. Grace and Polly had suffered severe bruising and cuts to most of their bodies, and both were still in a deep state of shock, but none of their injuries were life threatening. And by some miracle, the baby had hardly sustained any injuries at all, apart from severe fright. It was Aggie and Violet who were causing the most concern. And as Nobby accepted his third cup of tea from a passing auxiliary nurse, he sipped the scalding liquid, his mind running around in circles.

  His relief at discovering Grace and Polly hadn’t sustained any serious injuries in the bombing were compounded with his anxiety over Aggie and Vi, who were both still in the operating theatre. Unable to sit still any longer, he made his way towards the ward where Grace and Polly were still sedated. Kissing them both gently on the forehead, he then walked unsteadily back to wait outside the operating theatre, stopping any passing doctor for news of the other two Donnelly women. But the doctors and nurses, although kind and sympathetic, had no time to stop and chat; they had too many patients to see to after the morning’s raid.

  Pacing the hospital hall, Nobby remembered Aggie in the ambulance. She had seemed all right, but, as that doctor had told him, she had been trapped under a heavy beam for goodness knows how long, and she wasn’t a young woman any more. Nobby’s face twisted into a grimace. Yeah, well, that doctor didn’t know Aggie like he did. She was a tough old bird, and a fighter. If anyone could pull through such an ordeal then that person would be Aggie. He wasn’t so sure about Vi though. He hadn’t been allowed to see her, as the doctors were already operating on her by the time he’d come round from his morphine-induced state. The effects had long worn off, and Nobby looked for the umpteenth time at his watch, thinking it must have stopped, for the time didn’t seem to be moving at all.

  Knowing he would go mad if he stayed here much longer, Nobby was about to
go upstairs to see if Vi was out of surgery when the green doors of the operating theatre swung open, and there was Aggie, lying on a stretcher, looking pale but peaceful.

  Clutching at the nearest doctor’s arm, he asked fearfully, ‘Is she gonna be all right, Doc? Is she gonna…?’ His throat seemed to seize up as he waited for the news, mentally preparing himself for the worse.

  The doctor, seeing the anxiety in Nobby’s face, took him to one side and, after pulling down his mask, said kindly, ‘It’s all right, she’s not in any danger now. But she was very lucky. She has some internal injuries which we’ve seen to, but if she had been a slighter-built woman, then her injuries would have been much worse. You could say her, shall we say, fuller figure cushioned the weight of the beam.’

  Nobby felt his head spinning, the relief making him feel sick, but he stayed silent as the doctor continued.

  ‘She’ll have to stay in the hospital for a few weeks I’m afraid, maybe longer. It all depends on how fast her body recovers. But when she does get home, she’ll have to take it easy, and I mean just that. No heavy lifting, no walking around the shops for hours. Just plenty of rest is what she’ll need.’ He paused. ‘I’m presuming she has family who will take care of her when she gets home.’

  Nobby blew out his cheeks, then attempted a lopsided grin.

  ‘Oh, yeah, you’ve nothing ter worry about on that score, Doc. She’ll be waited on hand and foot for as long as it takes, but she ain’t gonna like it, not Aggie. She can’t bear to be fussed over, and as fer sitting around fer months doing nothing… Well, she’s gonna drive the family mad. Not that they’ll mind. The fact that she’s alive and well is all they’ll care about. Thanks, Doctor, thanks fer everything.’ Now he was pumping the startled but pleased man’s hand in gratitude, before following Aggie’s stretcher up to the ward. He sat by her bed for an hour, hoping she would wake, but although her eyes flickered a few times, she remained unconscious.

  As he had done earlier with Grace and Polly, Nobby leant over and kissed the wrinkled brow before leaving the ward, his heart lighter now he knew they were all going to be all right. He found himself humming beneath his breath – but then he stopped dead in his tracks. Vi! He still didn’t know how Vi was. Hurrying back up the stairs, he made a few enquiries and was told Miss Donnelly was out of surgery and in intensive care. The sister would offer no more information until Nobby, lying blatantly, told the starchily uniformed woman that he was her fiancé, then she unbended, her whole attitude softening. She led Nobby into a side room and waited until he was seated. As Nobby looked into the solemn face and saw the pity reflected in the sister’s eyes, he felt a moment of panic. He should have known it was too good to last. If he was a betting man, he would have laid a thousand to one against the possibility that an entire family could be struck by a bomb and have them all survive. He listened as the woman spoke, trying hard to register what she was saying. The good news was that Vi, like the rest of the family, wasn’t in a life-threatening position. The bad news was that the nature of her accident would leave her face permanently scarred.

  Nobby didn’t remember leaving the hospital, or thanking the sister for her kindness. The next thing he knew he was in a pub, knocking back pint after pint, as if trying to block out the image of Vi; Vi with the beautiful face that had drawn men like flies around a jam jar, now cursed to spend the rest of her life disfigured. It would be bad enough for any woman to suffer such a fate, but for a woman like Vi, who relied on her looks to get her through life, it would be a devastating blow, and Nobby didn’t think she would be able to tolerate or accept her injuries; her character was too shallow. He wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she swallowed a bottle of pills at the first opportunity.

  Shuddering at the thought, Nobby ordered another beer. He was desperately sorry for Vi’s predicament, but at least she was alive, as was the rest of the family. They had all survived. And as soon as they were ready to leave the hospital he would be there waiting for them. And while he was waiting he would find a place for them to live until Paddy’s Castle could be rebuilt. That’s if it was possible.

  He swallowed the last of his beer and debated ordering another; then he decided against it. Instead he headed back to where he belonged, at the hospital with his family.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  As Grace prepared to leave the corner shop on a warm April day in 1946 she paused, turned back and gave the man behind the counter a stern look.

  ‘Now don’t forget what I said, Uncle Danny – no tick. I mean it now. No matter what sob story you’re told, you’ve got to say no, or better still, tell whoever asks they’ll have to come back this afternoon to see me. Because as soon as I’m halfway up the road, they’ll be in here like a swarm of bees.’

  Danny Donnelly, back home these last four months, smiled sheepishly.

  ‘Aw, Gracie, you know I haven’t your strength of character. I don’t mean to give tick, but somehow I always end up doing it. I’m sorry, love. Maybe it’d be better if you found someone else to help you out here.’

  Grace sighed in loving exasperation. Staring at the red-faced man behind the counter, she wondered how anyone could have fought in such a terrible war and remain unchanged by their experiences. Yet Danny had managed to do just that. From the moment he had landed on their doorstep in his cheap demob suit, he had been the same old Danny. Shy, unsure of himself, still dependent on others, he had cried in Aggie’s arms at the sheer relief of being safely back home. And it had been left to Aggie, still bedridden at the time, to tell the excited man that his wife had never been his wife at all, and that she had run off with an American in 1944 and hadn’t been heard of since. Worse still, she had callously left her own baby behind without a second thought.

  The old woman had watched helplessly as Danny’s face crumpled at the news he was hearing. Then, much to Aggie’s amazement, he had squared his shoulders and said in a soft but steady voice, ‘It’s all right, Aggie. I half expected this to happen, especially seeing as I never received any more letters from her after the baby was born. It would have been daft of me to think a good-looking woman like Beryl would stay in every night listening to the wireless. And with a million Yanks over here chucking their money and nylons around, well, it must have been hard on Beryl not to give in to temptation, because she always did like a good time, did Beryl. But at least she left me my son. It must have been hard on her leaving him behind, but she did it for me, so that at least I’d have my son to come home to. You have to give her credit for that, Aggie.’

  And while Aggie had lain in her bed, her mouth flapping open and shut like a fish out of water, Danny had left the room, returning with Patrick in his arms, a nervous Grace and Polly following close behind him. Then Danny, his face alight with pride as he held his child, had turned to his nieces and said kindly, ‘Don’t worry about me. Your nan’s told me all about Beryl, but like I told her, at least she left Patrick behind, and for that act of kindness I’ll always be grateful, whatever else she may have done.’

  The three women had made frantic eye contact, wondering who should tell the delighted Danny that the child he was holding so proudly in his arms wasn’t his. Breaking the news about Beryl had been bad enough, but to tell Danny about the baby…!

  As usual it was Aggie, always the one to get bad news over with as quickly as possible, who painfully leant across the bed and took hold of Danny’s hand, saying, ‘Danny, son. There’s something else you have to know, an’ it ain’t gonna be pleasant. But someone’s gotta tell yer. It’s… it’s about Patrick… he’s—’

  All three women jumped as Danny, his face no longer genial, rounded on them all in turn, and said in a voice reminiscent of his dead brother, ‘I may have lost my wife, but Patrick is my son, and whatever other inadequacies I have, and believe me I know them all, one thing I know I’m capable of is being a good father. So before we all leave this room, I’ll say it one more time, and then I never want the subject raised again. Patrick is my child and will be raise
d as such. Now, does everyone understand?’

  Dumbfounded, the women had all looked into the sombre blue eyes, which at this moment bore no resemblance to those of the Danny they knew, and each had nodded in agreement, too stunned to do anything else.

  The matter had never been referred to again.

  ‘You look miles away, love. Anything wrong?’ Danny asked as his eyes scanned his niece’s vacant expression.

  Grace, returning to the present, looked at her uncle affectionately. He was wrong to say he had no strength of character. He had shown it that first night he had returned home, almost daring them to say Patrick wasn’t his child. And also the night he had first brought Beryl home and announced they were married – he had stood up to Aggie when she had loudly voiced her disapproval. Oh, Danny had character all right; unfortunately it only emerged in times of severe crisis.

  ‘No, nothing’s wrong. You just remember what I said. I’ll be back about three to give you a break, that’ll give me time to get the dinner done and put Patrick down for his afternoon nap. See you later, Uncle Danny.’

  Waving goodbye to his son, Danny began to tidy the shelves. Within a minute of Grace leaving, the doorbell tinkled and two women entered the shop, smiling broadly.

  ‘Hello, Danny, lad. On your own, are yer?’

  Danny replaced the jars on the shelf and groaned. Out of all his customers these two were the worst for asking for tick.

  As he pasted a sickly smile on his lips he asked in a resigned voice, ‘And what can I do for you ladies today?’

  * * *

  As Grace opened the front door and lifted the wheels of the pushchair over the doorstep, she could hear laughter coming from what used to be the library and was now Stanley’s bedroom. Placing the pushchair in the hall she checked on the sleeping Patrick, hung up her coat, fixed a smile to her face and walked into the converted bedroom.