Polly's War

by Freda Lightfoot

  Belinda, seeing this pantomime, laughed at her sister-in-law making herself out to be a vamp. Nobody could make fun of themselves quite so effectively as a Lancastrian and Lucy was incorrigible. She looked pretty and relaxed with her light brown hair curled into soft victory rolls on the top of her neat head, as if a glow lit her from within. Nor did Belinda miss the many glances she cast throughout the hilarious dance, in the direction of the door. A woman with a secret perhaps?

  It was past nine o’clock and still he hadn’t come. Perhaps he wouldn’t come at all and Lucy’s heart sank at the bleakness of sitting like a wallflower all night. She could see Johnny Parkinson had gone over to ask Belinda to dance now, the pair tripping about the floor in some fancy two-step. Poor boy, he looked bewildered by his good fortune before being grabbed by his own mother and waltzed away clutched tightly to her bosom. She thought Belinda looked slightly relieved as she quickly returned to her seat.

  ‘Would it be too much to ask a lovely young lady to dance with an old man?’

  Lucy beamed. ‘Uncle Nobby.’

  ‘I’ve two left feet, but they’re starting a slow waltz so I might manage that as I can count to three.’

  Laughing, Lucy readily got up to join her favourite courtesy uncle on the dance floor. Nobby did a little reverse turn, spinning her round in a manner so accomplished, it quite belied his modest statement about his two left feet.

  ‘Methodist or no, you’ve been dancing before,’ she teased.

  ‘Oh aye, its true,’ he said in his low, rasping Lancashire tones. ‘I learned, like many another, in the Tower Ballroom, Blackpool, when I were nobbut a lad. We’re not all po-faced and miserable, tha knows. Even your Aunt Ida can tread the light fantastic, if she’s a mind. But don’t let on I told you. That’s where I met her, in Blackpool. As you well know, we went every year after that, staying at Mrs Nelson’s guest house on York Street. Eeh, them were the days.’

  Lucy burst out laughing. ‘Oh, I do remember. I loved those holidays. Uncle Nobby, you’re as good as a tonic.’

  ‘Now that’s another thing your Aunt Ida likes, a bit of tonic wine. What a sinner she is, on the quiet. Not that she wants it bruited abroad, you understand, her being so strong in the Chapel department. She says she’s too old fer dancing and only come to this do tonight because she’s on the committee. She’s on a committee for everything is our Ida. But she’d not’ve missed this daft fandango for owt. I’ll persuade her up later, see if I don’t.’ He grinned, swirling Lucy round in such intricate steps that she had to struggle against her giggles in order to keep up with him.

  ‘Did you have a dance when you went with that Michael Hopkins to Belle Vue?’

  The quick change of subject startled her so much Lucy very nearly missed her step. But before she could find any sort of answer, she saw that Michael had at last arrived. He was leaning against the doorjamb as if he’d been there an age, watching her, when she knew he must only have walked through the door a minute ago. Wouldn’t she have seen him otherwise, since she’d been watching the door all night? He smiled at her and now she did lose her step and trod on Uncle Nobby’s foot. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I lost my concentration.’

  Nobby too glanced across the hall. ‘Aye, I’m not surprised. Nice chap.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Widowed?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘They say he’s a conchie?’

  ‘What? That’s not true.’ She was so upset, Lucy stopped dancing and Uncle Nobby led her back to her chair, one arm about her waist, his eyes kind.

  ‘I want only the best for thee, love. Since Charlie’s not well enough to think on these matters himself these days, I thought it my place to put in a quiet word. If I’ve overstepped the mark you’ll have to put it down to nosy old age. It’s just that folk are talking.’

  ‘Folk are always talking. I don’t listen.’

  ‘Sometimes you can’t help but hear.’

  ‘Then if that’s what they’re saying, they couldn’t be more wrong. He was in the RAF, invalided out in 1942 after his plane went down.’

  ‘You’ve only his word for that. He arrives here in civvies, in the middle of a war, so folk are bound to gossip. We know nowt about him, so he makes up some yarn to shut the gossips up. Who can blame him? Nay, don’t take on, just think before you make any snap decisions, that’s all I ask. Your husband might well have died fighting for his country. Or he might still be alive some place, trying to get back home to thee.’ And having said his piece, the old man walked away, leaving Lucy desolate.

  ‘Hello!’

  She felt her heart constrict. ‘Hello,’ she said, outwardly demure, inwardly on fire. Sickness was invading her fluttering stomach. Could she possibly be going down with ‘flu, or something far more serious? He didn’t ask if she wished to dance. He simply took her hand as if he knew she’d been waiting for him to do that very thing, and led her into it. It was a ‘Paul Jones’ and soon they were galloping round with the rest to the music Here We Go Gathering Nuts in May.

  ‘You look lovely,’ he whispered into her ear. For a whole five seconds she was in his arms, feeling the exciting closeness of him. Then the music changed and they were back into the circle again. Yet it was astonishing how many times when the two circles of dancers stopped, Lucy found herself opposite him.

  ‘What a coincidence. You again,’ she’d say, amused and highly flattered by his swift detours across the floor to be by her side.

  ‘Fancy that.’

  Neither of them noticed the interest they were causing, not least among Lucy’s own family. Benny’s face, as he watched Michael’s antics, grew dark as thunder. When the dance finished, it seemed quite natural for them to collect their suppers and sit together.

  ‘Just as well,’ Lucy said. ‘I’m fair starving,’ and giggled as she tucked in to the food. She wasn’t really very hungry but had noticed he’d started limping again on his bad leg and didn’t like to mention it, but a rest would probably do it good. And she was looking forward to a quiet chat. Then Minnie arrived, bearing down upon them with a loaded plate in her hand. ‘Ah, there y’are lad. Thought I’d lost thee. Hutch up a bit lass and make room for a little ‘un’. So saying, she plonked herself down between them.

  They exchanged a glance of pure anguish but could say nothing, only concentrate on eating their supper in silence while Minnie demolished hers with several refills, and never stopped talking once.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Later in the evening they managed to escape. Lucy complained about being hot and Michael led her outside, when he thought no one was paying them any attention. It felt cold in the school yard for the air was sparkling and fresh, with a clear view of a myriad of stars glittering high in the heavens. Lucy slid her hand into his, revelling in this moment alone. Even so she kept looking back, imagining shadowed figures watching them. ‘We must be careful.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ he urged. ‘There’s no one here.’

  Standing under the shelter in the school playground, he rubbed her bare arms, slid her inside the warmth of his jacket, urging her not to get cold. She didn’t feel cold, despite the crispness of the night air. Every nerve ending was on fire, her limbs glowing with the heat of the passion she felt for him, her lips burning for his kiss. Unable to resist, Lucy could feel her body growing languorous with desire.

  When the kiss came she melted into him, became a part of his soul, grafted on to the hard planes of his body. He slid the buttons of her little navy jacket apart and when he struggled with the last one, she helped him. His hand on her breast was icy but that only added to her excitement. She could never remember feeling this way before. Certainly not with Tom.

  ‘We could go home.’ His voice rasped with a low passion. ‘No one would notice, they’re all busy dancing. Our house is empty. We could be alone for once.’ How could she resist? ‘The children,’ she murmured against his hot kisses, still desperately trying to.

  ‘We could be back in half an
hour. Thirty whole precious minutes.’ Enough to make her his for all time. Dare he risk it? His mouth teased hers open, his exploring tongue only making her want him all the more. ‘They’ll never miss us. I love you so much, Lucy.’

  She kissed him again. Oh, she loved him too. The thought of his naked body hard against her own, of his exploring hands gently urging her to a climax were tempting beyond endurance. She even found herself shamefully glorying in the fact she was wearing her best underwear, handmade from parachute silk. What she wouldn’t do with him, given chance. ‘Maybe...’ she began.

  ‘Lucy. Are you taking a breath of fresh air, m’cushla?’

  They broke hastily apart, Lucy hastily doing up buttons with clumsy fingers, desperate not to be found anywhere near Michael Hopkins. ‘Lord, it’s Mam. She’ll flay me alive. Quick, hide.’

  By the time Polly crossed the dark playground and reached her, Michael had ducked into the boy’s lavatory and Lucy was alone, leaning against the stone wall in her little navy two-piece as if it wasn’t actually starting to snow and she now freezing cold.

  ‘Saints preserve us, is it pneumonia you’re wanting to catch?’

  ‘No, just a bit of peace, Mam.’

  ‘Aw, is it that you’re missing Tom, m’cushla?’ and Polly put sympathetic arms about her daughter, holding her tight, urging her to have faith and patience and her husband would be home in no time, so he would. Lucy despaired of ever making her understand.

  Michael slowly emerged from his hiding place. He loved Lucy. He wanted her. He didn’t care if the world knew it. Lucy however, did care and had a reputation to protect.

  Making his way around the perimeter of the yard, his bad leg ached from the cold, dragging a little. He really shouldn’t have done so much dancing, then stumbled across a group of men huddled together, obviously a card school; not unusual in these parts. Michael heard the clink of coin, a few choice words uttered in anger. He tried to avoid them but a scuffle broke out. One man was on the ground, another on top and in seconds fists were flying. He hesitated, wondering if he should get involved. They were grown men after all and it wasn’t his quarrel. Everyone else seemed to be standing back in a wide circle, egging the combatants on.

  ‘‘Come on Benny lad. Hit him hard.’

  There was no question then. Benny Pride, the young fool, fists and feet flying, blood streaming from his nose, no doubt thinking a bit of fisticuffs could solve everything. Michael ploughed into the mêlée, knowing he could hardly stand by while Lucy’s brother was being pulverised.

  A hand grabbed his lapel and shoved him away. ‘What’s it got to do wi’ you, mate. They’re just sorting out a bit of family business, right?’

  Michael could see now who the other combatant was. Ron Clarke, Benny’s brother-in-law. Perhaps it wasn’t any of his business. Or should he call for help? It could all become very nasty if they turned on him. Then Benny was struck square in the jaw and flung sprawling all over Michael’s feet. Reaching down and neatly avoiding a flying fist, Michael hauled Benny to his feet. Ron was back on him in a second, clinging like a leech but Michael wasn’t for letting go, not this time. ‘Stop it, the pair of you, or somebody will get seriously hurt.’

  Fortunately, others had reached a similar conclusion and the pair were finally dragged apart, though not without protest. Ron vanished in a trice but Benny, raring to go after him had to be held back, far from the grateful for the rescue.

  ‘Leave it. Let him go,’ Michael urged, anxious to put an end to this dispute so he could get back to Lucy and enjoy the evening.

  ‘What the hell has it got to do wi’ you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Michael started dusting him down but Benny shook him off. ‘Except that I thought Belinda might object if you were killed, but perhaps I’m wrong. Not very sensible though is it, to fall out with your in-laws when you’re trying to get started in a new business?’

  If there was one thing Benny didn’t need, it was to be reminded that after six years away fighting for his country, he was unemployed and on the dung heap. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be. Ron Clarke had just taken great pleasure in explaining why he couldn’t get a licence or permission to open his shop, and never would if Hubert had anything to do with it. Benny could hardly believe his father-in-law could be so vindictive and certainly had no wish to explain any of this to Michael Hopkins, or his lack of success in keeping his lovely wife in the manner to which she was accustomed. It was far too shaming. He’d no idea what he could do about the situation but Benny knew that he was in dead trouble. He’d even lost his latest job on Castle Quay, Ron Clarke claiming credit for that as well by telling his employer that Benny was a rabble-rouser, and a unionite.

  And there was still the eviction notice hanging over his head. The landlord had given him a month’s grace but where next month’s rent would come from he hadn’t the first idea. Worse, Belinda had no money either. Benny knew it was up to him to save them, though how he was to manage it, he hadn’t a clue. Frustration and anger roared in his head. What was he supposed to do? Why was everyone against him?

  ‘Its none o’ your goddamned business,’ he shouted, and threw off his two restrainers to snatch up his jacket and shrug it back on. He straightened his tie, slicked down his hair and dabbed at the blood on his chin. Apart from a slight bruise on the left cheek bone, no one would know he’d been in a fight. At least he hoped Belinda wouldn’t. If Michael Hopkins hadn’t interfered he might have succeeded in settling his score with Ron-interfering-Clarke. They were married for God’s sake. Why couldn’t Hubert accept the fact?

  He pushed his face up close to Michael’s. ‘I’ll settle up wi’ Ron Clarke another time, make no mistake, when there’s nobody to save his cowardly skin. But then you’d understand about cowards wouldn’t you, being one yourself.’

  Michael said nothing though his jaw tightened and a nerve flickered at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘In the meantime, you keep your nose out of my affairs, conchie, and your wandering hands off our Lucy. Don’t think I didn’t see you slobbering all over her when you were dancing. It may not seem like it but she’s still a married woman, and my sister. If you come anywhere near her again, you’ll be sorry, very sorry.’

  ‘Will I indeed?’

  ‘Aye, you will.’ Confidence restored by this show of aggression in front of his pals, Benny dusted off his hands as if he had soiled them by touching Michael Hopkins and thrust back his shoulders with a cocky arrogance. As he strolled away, his mates smacked him on the back, as if he’d won a great victory.

  For the rest of the evening Lucy tried to go nowhere near Michael, yet it seemed she couldn’t avoid him. Too frequently, as if by instinct, their glances met and held for a fraction of a second before hastily turning away in case anyone should notice.

  When everyone got together to do a progressive barn dance, the Okey-Cokey or the Teddy Bear’s Picnic, she made a point of dancing with anyone but him, even so it was difficult to avoid him without making it look obvious. She would quake with anticipation whenever he came near. It was pure torture as his fingers would link possessively into hers for the merest second, or more agonising still if he put his hand to her waist while he whirled her round. Her anguish as he moved on with another partner was almost more than she could bear. She very nearly called him back.

  At one point Benny waylaid her as she made her way on to the dance floor. ‘You’re making an exhibition of yourself. Remember you are a married woman.’

  Lucy snatched her arm away. ‘And you remember it’s none of your damn business.’

  At the end of the evening she collected her coat and made her way outside with Benny and Belinda, Polly and Charlie. They were all tired but happy, little Sean and Sarah Jane half asleep already, for it was well past their bedtime. But what did it matter once in a while, she thought, hugging them to her. And she’d enjoyed the dancing, for all she’d longed to spend more time with Michael.

  Then Sean realised he’d left his cap in t
he Sunday school cloakroom and she called out to the others not to wait for them while she ran back to fetch it. After a hasty search Sarah Jane found the cap fallen into a corner.

  ‘Here it is Mam.’

  ‘Dozy,’ Lucy teased, pulling it on to the little boy’s head where it nodded against her shoulder. After sitting down a moment to tie his shoe laces which had worked loose they set off again, Sean in her arms and Sarah Jane holding her hand, singing Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.

  It happened so suddenly. One minute Michael had appeared out of the darkness to wish her and the children goodnight, the next he was falling, blood spurting everywhere. Lucy screamed, watching in appalled horror as he hit the ground as if in slow motion.

  ‘Conchie! Conchie! Bloody conchie!’

  There was a hissing voice she heard without quite registering as she fell to her knees beside him, desperately trying to staunch the blood with her scarf, her handkerchief, whatever she could find. She could hear Sean starting to cry. Sarah Jane shouting Michael’s name. Where did all this blood come from? And she must have been shouting for help too, for it came in the form of running feet and noisy shouts, yet no one came to kneel beside her. When she finally glanced up it was to find themselves surrounded by a small group of curious onlookers.

  ‘Whoever it were, hit him wi’ that brick, love,’ said one.

  ‘It’ll need stitching,’ agreed another.

  ‘Aye, proper mess, eh?’

  Lucy looked into their faces and knew that for all they were happy to gawp, not one of them was willing to offer help. She’d always believed this to be a neighbourly district with the kind of people who, despite their predilection for gossip, would rally round if someone was in trouble. Salt-of-the-earth types. They’d bring food to the sick, wash bed-linen, mind a woman’s family while she was occupied delivering yet another mouth to feed. They’d make sure the old folk had coal in their buckets in winter and always found time to stop for a bit of a natter on a front doorstep. But these same people had lost sons, husbands, lovers in the war and not one was prepared to lift a finger for an accused conchie. Lucy struggled to lift him, feeling as if her fury might choke her. At least he was awake now, thank God, and then Minnie Hopkins came galloping out of the darkness, her skinny legs and arms pumping like pistons and together they helped Michael to his feet. There was no sign of Polly, or Benny or Belinda.