Family Chorus

by Claire Rayner

  And he was right. The street was quiet in the warm darkness, untouched by any bombs, though there was a faint scent of burning wood in the wind that blew up from the south. As the driver drew up at the end of Victoria Park Road, so that she could jump down, he grinned and cried, ‘See? Told yer it’d be all right, ducks! Keep yer pecker up — don’t let the buggers get yer dahn.’ Then he went rattling away into the night, leaving her to run up the road, let herself into the quiet house and lean against the front door with her eyes shut and her mind blanked as she tried to relax.

  ‘Who is it?’ Bessie’s voice came anxiously from the top of the stairs.

  Lexie called softly, ‘It’s only me, Bessie — not to worry.’ She walked slowly up the stairs, exhausted now by the agitation of the past hour. ‘Did you hear anything? They bombed Bethnal Green tonight, I heard —’

  ‘Bombed?’ Bessie drew her dressing gown closer around her. ‘I heard a bit of noise, but I thought it was thunder- it’s been quite hot today. But bombs — oh, Lexie, is it going to begin, the way they all said it would?’

  ‘I think it must be,’ Lexie said heavily. She went into the living room and threw herself into the armchair by the dead fireplace. The room looked as it always had. Downstairs in Barbara and Molly’s share of the house there was the most modern of comfortable, chintz-covered furniture and Heal’s chairs and tables, set against the most elegant of new wallpapers, for Lexie had spared no expense in the redecoration, but here it was all as it had been when she’d been a child. Bessie liked the familiar and the beloved, however shabby, and refused any changes to her home.

  ‘Molly’s going to have to go, you know, Bessie. She can’t stay here — it’s more than I can stand. I don’t think I’ve ever been as terrified as I was tonight when I heard — the journey back here was —’ She shivered. ‘Did Barbara and Molly hear the noise? Did they think it was thunder? Or do you think they realized? I’ll have to ask — what time did Barbara go to bed?’

  Bessie looked uncomfortable. ‘She hasn’t yet. I was just waiting for them to come in.’

  Lexie sat bolt upright and stared at her. ‘Waiting for them? What do you mean? They’re out? Both of them?’ Her voice rose shrilly. ‘Bessie, are you mad? They can’t be out at this time of night — Molly — it’s almost midnight, for God’s sake! Where are they? What are they doing?’

  Bessie looked wretched and her face crumpled like a worried child’s. ‘I said the same. I told them they shouldn’t, but Barbara said — and Molly got all upset so I — I mean, I don’t see why you can’t be told, but Barbara said you’d get angry — oh, dear!’ And suddenly tears were welling out of her eyes and streaking her cheeks. She rubbed the back of one hand against them and sat down abruptly. She was pale and looked as ill, suddenly, as she had that day when Lexie had first seen her again, at the Bournemouth nursing home, and with a little rush of compunction Lexie ran over to her chair and crouched in front of her.

  ‘Bessie, love, don’t upset yourself, please. Just tell me, quietly, what it’s all about. No, don’t look like that, I won’t be angry — I just want to know — come on now. You’ll feel better if you tell me.’ And it took every bit of acting ability she had to keep the fear out of her voice. Box clever, she thought. Box clever to get what you want. I must know — Molly and Barbara out of the house at this time, while there were enemy aircraft in the sky which could come back at any moment to blast them all into infinity — I can’t think about it. I can’t. ‘Tell me, Bessie. You’ll feel better if you do.’

  ‘I can’t. I promised them — but you make them tell you. It’s so silly, all this secretiveness. As if it wasn’t the same for you — you did it, why shouldn’t Molly? I can’t understand why it is —’

  There a distant thump as the front door below opened and then closed. Lexie was on her feet at once, running for the sitting room door.

  ‘Molly?’ she called as she reached the top of the stairs. ‘Molly? Barbara? Where the hell have you been? What’s going on, for God’s sake? It’s midnight — where the hell have you been?’

  They came upstairs quietly, Molly first, and her chin went up as she stared at Lexie with her brows raised, looking extraordinarily old suddenly. It was like looking at a stranger, Lexie thought as she stared back, not my Molly. She could have been any age — twenty, even more, not the twelve-year-old I know her to be. It’s less than a month since her birthday, yet she looks now as though she’s lived in the world for so many weary years that she’s sickened of it.

  Lexie hurried after her as Barbara brought up the rear. Reaching forward she grabbed Molly’s arm, tugging on her. ‘Where have you been?’ she said again, and knew her voice was shrill with worry. ‘Where the blazes have you been at this time of night?’

  Molly looked down at the hand on her arm and then, very coolly, at Lexie. ‘I don’t see what you’re fussing about,’ she said loudly. ‘I’ve been out with Barbie. Can’t a person go out with her mother without all this fuss?’

  Lexie stared at her and then whirled to look at Barbara. ‘What is all this? I came rushing back here because of the bombing and —’

  ‘We heard about it,’ Barbara said, pulling off her hat and then her coat, fussing as she folded the sleeves and set it neatly on the back of a chair, anything not to look at Lexie. ‘There weren’t any buses because of it — that’s why we’re a bit late. We had to walk back — but it wasn’t so bad, it seems. There were some people hurt over at Stepney, someone said, and —’

  ‘Barbara, where were you?’ Lexie’s voice was as sharp as a new knife and Barbara almost winced as she looked up at her.

  ‘It’s nothing so terrible, for heaven’s sake,’ she said, her voice thin and almost petulant. ‘But you know how you are — when I said in New York that it’d be kind of nice if Molly went to ballet classes you nearly went crazy, and said she shouldn’t, not ever, it was bad for kids to go to dancing class. I thought then you were making too much of it, but you got so upset that I — anyway, when Molly wanted to, I told her not to tell you. It’d just have started a fuss and I knew I could pay for it out of the housekeeping. Oh, Lexie, don’t look at me that way! She wanted to, and I didn’t want a fuss and —’

  ‘I said not to tell you.’ Molly’s voice came in cool and light and as relaxed as though they were talking about the weather. ‘It was a secret between Barbie and me. Nothing to do with anyone but us. And Bessie.’ She turned and smiled at Bessie, sitting curled miserably in her armchair. ‘I told Bessie, only it was a secret, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I told you I hate secrets,’ Bessie said, not taking her eyes from Lexie’s face.

  Molly turned away from her and shrugged. ‘Well, anyway, it was a secret, because Barbie said you’d fuss —’

  ‘What secret, for Christ’s sake?’ Lexie shouted it now, no longer caring what she sounded like. ‘You’re all talking nonsense.’

  But they weren’t and she knew it, remembering only too well the way she had lost her temper when Molly was four and Barbie had in all innocence tried to enrol her for ballet classes at the local school. She could remember still how white-faced Barbara had been as she had stood there, letting Lexie’s tongue lash at her.

  ‘I go to dancing classes,’ Molly said loudly. ‘So there! Barbie pays for it, so why shouldn’t I go? You don’t want me to have any fun, not ever, but Barbie does, and if she says I can dance, I can! It’s up to her, not you —’ She stared at Lexie challengingly, her arms folded over her narrow chest and her jaw thrust forwards. ‘I said not to tell you, to keep it a secret ’cos I don’t like rows, and I knew you’d make one. You are now — look at you! Barbie, tell her it’s all right. You said I could, didn’t you?’

  At last she was sounding like a child again, not a remote adult, and that made it possible for Lexie to take a deep breath, to relax and simulate calmness. She sat down at the table, resting her elbows on it, and stared over her clasped hands at Molly.

  ‘My love, I hate rows too! I’m not making one now
— I only shouted because I was worried. I’m sorry — I won’t shout again. But there were bombs and I thought — I was afraid they’d fallen here. I’m still afraid they will and I think it’s time, whether you like it or not, to think about leaving London, to go on somewhere safe where the Germans won’t come. But I didn’t mean to make a row, as you put it. Not that I’m not sorry about the dancing lessons —’ She swallowed and managed to smile a bright tight little grin. ‘It’s something I know about, dancing. It’s the toughest, most miserable business —’

  ‘You’re a dancer. It’s not hurting you! You’re a star in all these shows, you dance and sing — why not me? Don’t you think I’m good enough?’ Molly was still standing in that challenging position. ‘Why did you tell Barbie I mustn’t ever do it? Does it make you jealous or something?’

  ‘Molly!’ Barbara gasped, but Lexie shook her head at her.

  ‘No, Molly, I’m not jealous. Just —’ She looked down at her hands for a moment and then back at the stubborn little face that was scowling at her. ‘I love you, that’s all. And I didn’t want you to go through the hell I did. I worked all the hours God sent, and I don’t think I ever stopped hurting, and the people were — it’s a rotten life, Molly. I want better for you. Good schooling and maybe university and to be happy and comfortable and —’

  ‘I want to be a dancer,’ Molly said mulishly. ‘I told Barbie. I told her I want to be an actress too, and I shall be, you’ll see. You can’t stop me, not if Barbie says I can. Can you?’

  There was an icy silence, broken only be a sharp intake of breath from Barbara. Then Lexie got heavily to her feet. ‘No dear, of course I can’t,’ she said, keeping her voice as expressionless as she could. ‘Of course not. Not if Barbara says it’s all right. Is that where you were tonight? At a class? It was very late —’

  Molly flushed and her eyes suddenly lit up as she unfolded her arms at last and came skipping over to the table to stare eagerly into Lexie’s face. ‘No!’ she carolled. ‘No, it was something much better! We did a show! It’s the first one ever, and it was marvellous, because there’s only six of us, what with all the kids being evacuated and all, so I was in every number, every single one, and they all applauded so much it was wonderful! Lilian, she fell over in her solo and Susan made ever so many mistakes, but I was great, wasn’t I, Barbie?’ She lifted her chin exultantly and laughed aloud. ‘I was great! And Miss Alicia says now I’m twelve I can start work properly and —’

  ‘What did you say?’ Lexie said loudly, looking at Barbara. ‘What did she say, Barbara? Classes is one thing but —’

  Barbara bit her lip and gazed at Lexie with eyes that were both triumphant and alarmed. ‘I didn’t think it’d go that far, Lexie, honestly. It was just something she wanted to do, and I couldn’t see no harm in it, though I knew you wouldn’t like it. That’s why I didn’t — anyway, there was this Miss Alicia’s Academy we went past one day and Molly said let’s ask, and we did, and she got Molly to try a few steps, and she said she was a natural, a real natural.’ She reddened even more then. ‘And why shouldn’t she be? It’s in the family, after all! Isn’t it? And she learned real fast. Miss Alicia said she could do solo numbers — and then she said about this show they’ve got. It’s going to tour all the places where the children are evacuated, Miss Alicia says. It’s got those ENSA people organizing it — we heard about them from Bessie because of Mr Lazar, and he fixed it for Miss Alicia, and well — now Molly’s twelve, she — Miss Alicia — says it’s all legal for her to be in a show. She’ll have proper lessons, of course, because the law says she has to, and there’ll be this teacher who’ll travel with them, and the show’ll only do one performance a day, mostly matinées at schools —’

  ‘It’s going to be called Here’s London!’ Molly said, almost bouncing with excitement. ‘It’s to help the children stay where they’re evacuated, instead of them getting all miserable and coming back to London and getting bombed, and I’m going to sing that song “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” and “Goodnight, children everywhere” and —’

  ‘They want me to go with,’ Barbara said huskily and she moved forwards and put her hand on Lexie’s arm. ‘I knew I’d have to tell you now, because Molly’s dead set on doing it, so I’m real glad you’re here, though I wish you hadn’t found out this way — well, anyway, I was surely going to tell you. It’s a way of going out of London, you see, isn’t it? We can be together, Molly and me, and she can do what she likes doing and we’ll be safe, won’t we?’

  Lexie was trying to get her head into some sort of order. She wanted Molly out of harm’s way, wanted her out of London as much as she had wanted her here a few months ago. The hour she had spent getting to Hackney from Oxford Street had convinced her, as nothing else could, that evacuation was a must. Even if the bombing didn’t get any worse than tonight, even if there were no more raids, the fear of them was enough. And here she was being shown the one way to get Molly to go happily, because it was the one way to ensure she would have her beloved Barbara with her. The rules about evacuees were clear; mothers of under-fives could be sent away with their children. Mothers of twelve-year-olds — no, there was little hope of finding a billet for both of them together, except this way.

  But what a way. She thought of the long miserable years of the last war when she too had been a child dancer on the road, of the cold digs and the colder trains and charabancs, of the dreadful food and the long hours of practice in cold icy drill halls and dusty scout huts, of the leering men, not only backstage but in the audiences, and the way they had grabbed for her as she’d gone dancing among them with her collection box, and she closed her eyes to blot it out. Was this going to happen to Molly, too? Hadn’t she promised herself a better life for Molly, better than her own mother’s had been?

  She opened her eyes then and looked bleakly at Barbie. Own aunt, she thought, and wanted to laugh. I worked and planned for Molly, and what did it get me? Cast as the aunt, lost the lead role, cast as the aunt, not the mother, and she actually began to laugh, weakly at first and then more loudly until she could hardly catch her breath.

  Molly stared at her and then at Barbara. ‘Is it all right, Barbie?’ she asked, moving to stand closer beside her. Through her laughter-slitted eyes Lexie saw how tall she was now, the same height as Barbara, but so much more beautiful, so much more hopeful and alive and eager, and the tears of laughter thickened and threatened to become tears of misery. She took a deep breath, found a handkerchief and blew her nose.

  ‘What can I do?’ she said. ‘You’ve got to get out of London, that’s for sure, and if there’s no other way you’ll go—’

  ‘Of course there isn’t!’ Molly said and laughed, a clear bell-like sound that was full of the most natural childish merriment. ‘I’d run away if you tried to make me go anywhere I didn’t want to go — I’d keep on running away until you let me stay in London. But if I’m in a show, that’ll be different. Then I’ll go, because we’ll be in different places all the time, and it’ll be marvellous, really marvellous —’ She laughed again and hugged Barbara and kissed her cheek, but made no attempt to come and hug and kiss Lexie.

  Later, when at last Molly had been calmed down from her towering excitement with a cup of hot milk and sent off to bed, and when Lexie had brushed away Barbara’s confused attempts to explain, to expiate her sin of secrecy, and then had also gone to bed, Bessie wearily got to her feet.

  ‘I need bed too. Thank God it’s Sunday tomorrow — this morning. I’ll be able to lie in. Not that Molly’s likely to let any of us sleep all that long. I never saw the child so excited —’ She moved heavily to the door, pulling her dressing gown around her. Looking at her, Lexie thought with a pang, she’s getting old — yet she isn’t really. Only sixty — not all that old, is it? But she looks more.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose she will. Go to bed, Bessie, I’ll sit here awhile, have another cup of tea, then I’ll go too. Goodnight, and sleep well.’
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br />   ‘Goodnight,’ Bessie said, but she lingered at the door, still looking at Lexie. Then she sighed softly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Lexie? You could have told me, you know.’

  ‘Told you what?’ Lexie looked up. ‘Told you what?’

  ‘That Molly’s yours. You could have told me. I’m Bessie, remember me? You can tell me anything.’

  Lexie stared at her, face blank and mouth drying with surprise. Bessie, who had always been so quiet, so easy to manipulate, so biddable, to talk so? It was as though a passing cat had opened its mouth to bark like a dog.

  ‘I suppose she’s Max’s, too.’ Bessie turned again to the door. ‘You’ll have to think a lot about that, you know, Lexie. He has a right to know if she is. And so has she, of course. Goodnight, my dear. Don’t sit up too late.’

  33

  At first, when she got to the island, she was scared to sleep. After the long weeks of nightly bombardments and daily bone-shaking journeys in ill-sprung lorries, lurching over hot sand and rough shale, she had got into the habit of grim endurance. To be able to lie in a real bed, rather than a makeshift canvas and lathe construction in a tent, to be able to black out the night with closed lids and slide into oblivion with the comfortable certainty that the morning would come and she would still be alive — it was difficult for her to get used to that. That there was a real future available, a tomorrow that was certain to come — that was an idea she had come to do without.

  She had learned to cope with each moment as it was, not thinking about the minutes just gone or those about to come, just the immediate now. It was the only way she had managed to survive those interminable months in North Africa with a show every night, and sometimes in an afternoon as well. Seven days a week, month after month after month.