Polly's War

by Freda Lightfoot

That week seemed endless. Both Polly and Charlie tried to talk to Tom but few more facts emerged. Any hopes Lucy might have had for a heart to heart with her mother about her worries, or to admit that she didn’t feel the same about her husband, died in her throat as the warnings came thick and fast that she must be patient, and give him time to adjust. Besides, Polly was busy with her own concerns over Charlie and the warehouse and once she recognised her daughter was depressed, she assumed it to be because Tom wasn’t yet sharing her bed. Somehow Lucy never seemed to find quite the right moment to explain that she’d much rather sleep with her lover.

  The children soon lost interest in him, maintaining a shy distance. This man, who was supposedly their father, felt like a stranger to them and they found it difficult to accept him as anything more at this stage. Even Sean began to avoid him, saying only, ‘You never took me fishing.’

  ‘I could take you now.’

  ‘It don’t matter. Michael took me down the canal.’

  Lucy made a decision not to interfere. If he wished to get to know his children, he must set about the task himself. Despite her feelings of guilt at her own apparent betrayal, she still harboured resentment that Tom had sent no word that he was safe, nor warned her that he was coming home. Even the authorities seemed to have let her down. There’d been no letter from his commanding officer either, not a word to indicate that he was alive and well. Tom insisted that it was not uncommon for it to take six or even twelve months before relatives were informed a man had been found. A fact she found hard to believe, but without hard evidence couldn’t dispute.

  Only Benny seemed enthusiastic over his brother-in-law’s return, ‘Great to see you again, old chap. We’ll go for a pint or two one night, eh?’ And he flashed Lucy a challenging glare, as if saying that he’d warned her all along that Tom would be back. Wasn’t that why he’d disapproved of her friendship with Michael Hopkins?

  ‘Did you ever discover who threw that brick at Michael?’ Lucy asked, without thinking that it might seem as if she were defending him.

  Benny’s eyes flashed dangerously, the natural rivalry between brother and sister instantly sparking into action. ‘You’re not still blaming me? I wasn’t even there. Belinda and me were well on our way home by that time. Anyroad, he deserved it.’

  ‘Was that because he’s a conscientious objector?’ Tom asked.

  Lucy instinctively opened her mouth to deny this but then the thought flashed into her mind that Tom couldn’t possibly know the rumours circulating about Michael. Not unless he’d arrived home a good deal sooner than he claimed and had overheard someone talking. She gazed thoughtfully at her husband’s placid expression of interested enquiry and wondered if it were genuine. Wisely she decided not to pursue the matter, resolving to think about it later, when she’d recovered from the shock of his unexpected return. Instead she changed the subject, reminding Benny that Tom wasn’t well enough to start drinking yet. ‘Hasn’t he only just arrived home.’

  Perversely, Tom said, ‘How about tonight? We could go to the Dog and Duck, if you like.’

  ‘But I thought you were ill and didn’t want to go out?’ she protested, surprised by this contrariness.

  ‘It’s only to the pub. I can manage to go there, for God’s sake.’

  He was often contrary, she discovered in the days following. Once, she offered to put his things away and he went mad, snatching the shirt she’d picked up right out of her hands. He always insisted on folding them himself, personally stowing away each item with painstaking care. He would put his cuff links in a box and lock it away in a drawer with other items he never showed her, almost as if he expected her to steal them when he wasn’t looking. On one occasion she caught a glimpse of shining metal and asked if he’d brought home a German gun. She knew many soldiers did, as a memento. He was furious, shouting and raving at her, asking if she thought he was a madman. She never went near his things after that.

  Benny explained that it was because he’d spent so much time as a POW. ‘Affects ‘em that way. Makes them very possessive because of the terrible living conditions they had to endure. Give him time.’

  If anyone else told her to give him time, Lucy thought she might scream. What about her? Who was going to give her time? How was she supposed to adjust? She had no desire to coax him into her bed, as everyone seemed to think. She was hoping and praying he would never ask, that he’d be content to stay in the alcove bed in the kitchen for a long, long time. Or at least until she had found a way out of this nightmare.

  On Sunday night, thankful that her days of being confined in the house with Tom were nearing an end, Lucy put on her coat and announced that she was just popping up to see Minnie Hopkins and her other customers, to let them know she’d be back at work the next day as usual. ‘We need some money coming in, and I don’t want you starting work till you feel ready.’ She felt stifled, desperate to get out, as well as to see Michael again. She prayed he’d be in.

  ‘Don’t be long,’ Tom warned. ‘I want you back within the hour.’

  ‘You what?’ She laughed in disbelief that he should attempt to give her orders. ‘I’m used to coming and going as I please. I’ll not be dictated to.’

  Tom picked up the newspaper, shook it open and began to read. ‘I’ve told you. Things have changed.’

  Lucy felt a quick surge of anger well up within her but he merely glanced at her over the rim of his paper with that odd, disconnected sort of expression in his eyes and she remembered Polly’s warnings to give him more time, Benny cautioning her about ex-POW’s being difficult. Tom wasn’t himself. She must remember that. This man had almost died for his country, might well have endured torture and inhumanity that he couldn’t even bear to talk about, and all for his wife and children. She bit back the protest. Perhaps if she didn’t argue he’d get over his jealousy quicker and in time they’d sort everything out in a sensible fashion without hurting anyone.

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  As she went out through the door, his voice followed her. ‘You’ll do more than your best Lucy. You’ll learn to do as I say. And you won’t talk to that Michael Hopkins ever again. Is that clear?’

  Lucy mumbled something unintelligible as she hurried out into the night.

  Minnie was alone when she arrived, surprisingly sympathetic and avid for news. The old woman explained that Michael had gone to bed early for once, since he hadn’t been sleeping well lately, which Lucy didn’t wonder at. But Minnie did offer her a cup of tea in the kitchen, admitting to being captivated by the whole situation and clearly itching to know more. ‘What a pretty pickle, eh?’

  ‘Upsetting and confusing, yes.’

  ‘It would be. You fancy our Michael then?’

  Startled by the older woman’s bluntness, Lucy realised she’d led herself up this dangerous path by spending too much time with him at the Coffee and Bun Social. Well, she’d already made the situation clear to Tom, so there was no turning back now. What did she have to hide? She stood up, walked to the sink to fetch a dish cloth to wipe up a spill of tea, anything to avoid direct eye contact. ‘I do, yes, as a matter of fact. And he fancies me. If you’ve anything to say against that, you’d best say it now.’

  ‘He allus has had a soft spot for thee, lass.’ Her calmness surprised Lucy, as if she didn’t mind that her son was “bothering with a married woman,” which was how the self-righteous gossipmongers would see it. ‘Thee has more than thy fair share now, eh?’

  ‘Of trouble? You’re right, I have. The whole street will be talking about it by tomorrow, I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘Aye, trying to choose the right one for you, lass. Fellas, two a Penny, eh?’

  Lucy tried to smile, used to Minnie’s droll sense of humour, then leaned across the table, her face serious again. ‘At least I stick up for Michael. They’ve already had a go at him.’

  “‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but calling never hurt me.” Isn’t that what kids say?’

  ‘The gossips say
he’s a conchie. That’s why someone threw that brick at him. Didn’t he tell you?’

  Minnie looked startled, her mouth curling in upon itself till her lips had almost disappeared. ‘Conchie? Where the hecky thump did they get that from?’

  ‘You know what folk are like. All because they’ve never seen him in uniform.’

  Minnie was silent for a whole half minute, quite a long time for her. ‘Come on, and don’t make a sound. I want to show thee summat. Summat tha’d best see if that’s the way the wind blows.’

  Back at number 32 Tom Shackleton took the opportunity of an empty house to visit his wife’s bedroom. Polly and Charlie were down at the warehouse and Sarah Jane and Sean were fast asleep, curled up like a pair of spoons in the single bed they shared in the corner. The brass double bed which had once stood in a bedroom in his own home, occupied most of the rest of the floor.

  Tom resented the fact that they had to share a house with Lucy’s family though he could see how it had made sense for Lucy, while he was away in the war. But a man should have his own place. He also bitterly resented only being offered the alcove bed downstairs when there was this big one here, which he should be sharing with his own wife. He’d certainly no intention of sharing her with that conchie. It amused him that Lucy had no idea that he’d seen them together, kissing and canoodling in the school yard. Bit of luck that was. He chuckled now to think how Benny had got it in the neck for something he didn’t do. If she knew that it’d been he who’d thrown that brick, she might not even offer him the alcove bed.

  But he meant to start asserting his rights soon. It wasn’t that he meant to hang around longer than was necessary. Once she’d had time to get used to the idea and accepted him back in a proper fashion as a good obedient wife should, they’d be off, out of this dratted street and this drab city. He’d never shared Lucy’s love for Manchester and he’d taken a big risk in coming home back, like a rat to its hole, he thought to himself with a smile. One he had to make worth his while.

  For now he turned his attention to quietly opening and closing drawers in the chest which stood beside the bed. After some moments of searching he found what he was looking for. A small tin. Inside was exactly what he’d expected, a collection of coins and one or two notes. Like her mother, his lovely Lucy believed in careful budgeting. Old habits never change. He smiled again as he pocketed the money, leaving no more than a coin or two in the bottom of the tin. What was hers was now his. She was his wife after all. Then he let himself quietly out of the house and headed for The Dog and Duck. The children would be all right on their own for once. No bombs would be likely to drop, since hostilities were over, and they were fast asleep. He’d just slip out and do what needed to be done, then have a quick half and be back long before Lucy returned.

  Woken by the click of the front door, Sean sat up in bed and started to cry.

  Filled with curiosity, Lucy followed the old woman upstairs. On the first landing Minnie opened a door and led her quietly inside. In the centre of the large double bed, Michael lay breathing softly, deep in sleep.

  Lucy stepped back, alarmed, but Minnie merely put one finger to her lips, urging her to be quiet and pointed to something on the floor. Peering into the shadows by the big high bed, Lucy saw Michael’s boots, the ones he wore every day, and always brightly polished. But they looked somehow different as they stood on the bedroom rug. One was quite ordinary, the other taller, as if they weren’t a proper pair. And then it came to her what she was looking at and her hand flew to her mouth to stop herself from crying out loud.

  Back in the kitchen the two women faced each other once more. ‘So, now you know,’ Minnie said matter-of-factly as she poured Lucy a fresh cup of tea and popped in two saccharin tablets. ‘This so-called conchie left half his leg in the desert, his foot anyroad. Happen you should tell those gossips to look for it, should they ever go visiting that part of the world.’

  ’Oh, that’s awful. So that’s where the limp comes from?’

  ‘Aye.’ Minnie’s expression was solemn. ‘He never mentions it because he doesn’t want folk’s sympathy.’

  ‘I want you to know that missing a foot or not, it doesn’t make any difference to the way I feel about him. It’s Michael I love. I know it might be wrong but I can’t think of Tom as my husband, not any more. I suppose I should, because we were happy once, but I can’t.’

  ‘Thee’s still a married woman.’

  The tea was cooling in the cup but now that she’d started, Lucy couldn’t stop talking. ‘I know, and maybe those feelings would come back if I let them, but somehow I doubt it. I’m desperate not to lose Michael, yet I feel so guilty. I was the one who betrayed my own husband, not that we’ve - I mean - I’ve betrayed him in my mind - by loving another man.’

  Minnie had the grace to smile. ‘Nay lass, don’t be too hard on yourself. They told you he was dead. It’s fair enough if tha believed ‘em.’

  ‘The letter said the army presumed he was dead, not quite the same thing, though it felt it at the time. I feel so confused. What am I to do? Tom expects everything to go back to the way it was. He’s told me not to see Michael, nor ever speak to him again. But how can I bear to do that? Should I ask Tom to leave, insist on a divorce? Everyone seems to be getting one these days, so why not me?’ She gave Minnie no opportunity to offer any opinion as she continued with bitter pain in her voice, ‘Yet it seems so unfair when he nearly died fighting in a war for our sakes, doesn’t it? I’m just being selfish and ungrateful.’ Lucy could feel herself growing all hot and bothered, her throat constricting with tears and her chest tight with fear.

  ‘Bide yer time, lass. Bide yer time. Give the lad chance to settle and yourself time to get used to the idea. Problems have a way of sorting themselves out in the end, though the cat doesn’t always jump the way you expect.’

  This old woman, who Lucy had always thought of as her enemy looked so sad, and so full of sympathy that she felt an odd sort of kinship with her, as if she understood. Perhaps, some time in her own youth, Minnie Hopkins had loved and lost. ‘Yes, you’re right. It wouldn’t be fair to bombard him with demands when he’s only just arrived. Oh, Minnie,’ and the old woman gathered her up in her skinny arms while Lucy lay her head on the flat chest, breathing in the scent of violets and pear drops, thinking that this cantankerous old dragon suddenly seemed to be her only friend.

  Later, as Minnie showed her to the door they found an envelope on the mat that someone had pushed through the letterbox. Inside were three white feathers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Coming home to find her small son in a lather of distress and Sarah Jane in a flood of tears, not knowing where to find either of her parents, inflamed Lucy with the kind of anger she’d never experienced in her life before. Perhaps it was just as well that her negligent husband didn’t come home till the early hours, far too late to discuss the matter then. She’d also discovered the near empty tin which she used to save up for her share of the household expenses. It wasn’t difficult to guess what had happened to that either.

  But it wasn’t until after supper the next day that the subject was raised. She’d been quietly fuming all day and as Lucy ladled out meat and potato pie, everyone ate in a subdued silence, as if aware of a storm brewing. Even the children were quieter than usual and as soon as the meal was over, Polly offered to put them to bed while Charlie did the clearing away, shooing the pair off into the front parlour.

  The minute the door was closed Lucy calmly enquired where, exactly, he’d spent the previous evening. ‘And don’t say you went for a swift half because you didn’t come home until after two in the morning. No doubt spending the money you stole from my tin.’

  ‘I won’t even bother to answer, since you seem to know everything.’

  Lucy had vowed that she would remain calm, now she almost screamed at him. ‘How could you leave the children alone like that?’

  His response was cold to the point of icy. Turning from her, he picked up the pa
per as he always did when he needed a barrier between them. ‘They were perfectly safe. Many kids have been left in worse places during this war. In any case, you’re their mother. You shouldn’t have left them either.’

  ‘But I left them with you, their father, while I tried to hang on to my job.’

  ‘I’ve decided I don’t want you working for the Hopkins any more. You won’t be going there again, or on any other cleaning jobs for that matter. You’ll stop at home in future and look after me and the children.’ He didn’t even glance up from the paper, the tone of his voice hard and unyielding, as if the matter were settled and there was really no necessity for further discussion.

  Lucy’s eyes widened in disbelief, half laughing at his obstinacy. ‘You can’t be serious. Of course I’ll be going again. It’s a good job, that pays well. How would we manage without it?’

  ‘I shall find a job. No problem. Till then, we can go on the dole, or benefits.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  He flung the paper aside so violently Lucy took a quick step back, startled by his quick anger. ‘Do you need it spelling out? I thought I made it clear last night. I’ll not have you seeing Michael Hopkins, and lusting after him.’

  Lucy wrapped her arms about herself in a half-defensive gesture and drew in a trembling breath, trying to keep steady and composed. ‘I’ve already explained, Tom, nothing ever happened between us and it won’t while you and me are still man and wife, so there’s no reason for you to be jealous. But you can’t expect things not to have changed. I’m prepared for you to stay here for a bit, till you’ve time to sort yourself but ...’

  His hand snaked out to grasp her by the hair and push her back against the wall, making her squeal with surprise, quickly stifled as she didn’t wish to alarm the children upstairs. Tom’s face was less than an inch from her own, his rage spraying her with spittle. ‘Listen! You’re my wife, not his. And always will be. I’ve no intention of giving you up. Not to anyone, and certainly not to a bloody conchie.’