by Lizzie Lane
Home! The thought of going back to Oswald and that gloomy place in Montpelier caused the bruise beneath her eye to throb painfully.
She’d been planning to leave him for some time, but circumstances were not in her favour. Men had always been her key to changing her life. If you fluttered your eyelashes and made them feel special, they were stupid enough to do anything for you. Sid Chalmers, the ticket inspector, had seemed for a time to be just that. His wife was an invalid and he’d told Mildred he was unhappy in his marriage. When the chips were down and she’d tried to persuade him to run off with her, he’d swiftly changed his tune.
There had been other men, but her looks were fading. There were younger, more attractive women with persuasive powers every bit as good as hers.
Your day is done, she thought to herself. The trouble was that her wages as a conductress wasn’t enough for rent, food and everything else. A woman didn’t make as much money as a man, even in comparable jobs. The male conductors earned more than the women, even though they were all doing the same job and working the same hours. It wasn’t fair, but that was the way things were.
Frances turning up had altered things. The girl was pretty and capable of earning good money.
Mildred smiled to herself. It had been so easy to persuade her daughter that she was determined to make a new start. And indeed I am, she thought as she went out of the door and across Old Market to catch the bus that would take her home. Two wages were needed to make that new start, her wage as well as the wage her daughter would bring in.
If she played her cards right, the money Frances earned would mostly go to her. Young girls were malleable and she’d seen the longing in her daughter’s eyes. She wanted a mother and she would give everything to have one. Mildred would see that indeed she would give everything, and she would take it.
Leaving Oswald and setting up a new life depended on her daughter earning that extra wage.
Once she was indoors, and after checking Oswald wasn’t home, she poured herself a glass of sherry and toasted her future. If she couldn’t take advantage of men’s desire any longer, then she would take advantage of her daughter.
Mrs Kepple was very understanding of Frances’s situation and even helped her pack.
‘She wasn’t quite up to the mark, was she, my pet?’
Frances shook her head. ‘I think I made a mistake.’
‘And you feel such a fool.’
‘More than that. I feel cruel. What is it they say? The other man’s grass is always greener.’
‘And you don’t know what you have until it’s gone,’ stated Mrs Kepple with a resolute jerk of her bristled chin.
Not mentioning getting married to her mother had been an easy decision to make. Neither had she mentioned her delicate condition, which she doubted her mother would welcome.
She was swift in telling Mrs Kepple that she was leaving. ‘I want to go home.’
Mrs Kepple beamed. ‘Home is where the heart is.’
Frances had to concede that she was right.
She got a lift to the tramway centre – which of course no longer catered to tramways, but the name had stuck. The lift was with Mrs Kepple’s taxi driver son, who had a tin leg after coming back from the war.
The single-decker country bus only ran three days a week and then only intermittently but it was cheaper than the train. She was just in time to catch the last one home.
Mrs Kepple gave her a big hug. ‘Having met your mother and having her as a guest for a while, I’m sure you’re doing the right thing, my dear.’
Frances didn’t ask what her mother’s shortcomings had been when she’d stayed with Mrs Kepple. She didn’t need to.
She smiled. ‘I’m sure I’m doing the right thing too.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Hi to the child of the forest. This note is short but sweet and I shouldn’t be sending it at all. Everything is top secret nowadays. I’ll see you when I see you. Don’t lose hope. Don’t lose trust. Be assured I will stand by you.
Be with you soon. Declan O’Malley
Even if he hadn’t signed it, Frances would have known who it was from. Nobody wrote in the way that Declan did.
There’d been no recriminations when she’d got home. Her uncle hadn’t said ‘I told you so’ though his taciturn demeanour conveyed he was still not pleased about her being pregnant.
‘I’m just glad you’re back, sweetheart,’ said Stan. ‘Charlie’s missed you.’
Up in their shared bedroom, Ruby helped her unpack. ‘Another baby in the house.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘The more the merrier.’
Frances took a deep breath. ‘I might not be living here when he’s born.’
‘How far gone are you?’
‘It’s been about two months since I last had my monthly.’
Ruby took a moment to place things in the top drawer of the chest they shared and did a quick calculation in her head. The baby would be born some time in the New Year.
‘It’s Declan’s, isn’t it?’
Frances sat down on the bed, her head bent, her clasped hands resting on her knees. ‘I think so.’
Hearing the helplessness in her voice, Ruby sat down beside her. ‘You think it might be Ed’s?’
‘It wasn’t that long before. He was drunk. I was a bit tipsy too and feeling bitter about my mother and what Mrs Powell said about her. For a moment, I thought I may as well follow in her footsteps.’
‘Frances! How could you think such a thing? You’re nothing like your mother. You’re you. Frances Sweet.’
Frances kept her head down, her eyes scrutinising her clasped hands. ‘Should I tell Declan that it might be Ed’s? What do you think?’
Ruby bit her lip. Frances had not been a virgin when she’d gone with Declan, but did that really matter nowadays? The fact was it might matter to him. Some men were like that. The truth was she didn’t know what to say, though in all honesty she would do what women had done for generations. She’d keep mum!
‘Look. Just think about it. You’ll know the right thing to do when the time comes.’
‘Do you really think so?’
Ruby looked into her cousin’s upturned face. This kid needed reassurance.
‘You won’t be the first one who fails to be a virgin on her wedding day.’
Frances smiled. ‘Thank you, Ruby. You’ve made me feel better.’
Ruby gave her a hug. ‘I’m glad you’re back. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do with my work for the Ministry of Food. I need help and you’re it.’
Frances said she would be glad to help.
The welcome home was better than Frances had expected or felt she deserved. For the first time, she felt part of this grand plan to help the nation feed itself. Ruby even persuaded Andrew to pay her on a part-time basis. No mention was made to him of Frances’s condition.
Bettina Hicks helped the wounds heal with an impromptu visit and a half bottle of brandy.
‘To toast an ongoing victory through Europe,’ she declared. They all raised their glasses to that.
It’s said that into every life a little rain must fall. Frances was filled with happiness that her uncle was going to sign the form giving her permission to marry Declan O’Malley. She’d written to Declan and he’d suggested September.
The bombshell was brought to them by his commanding officer. The moment he walked into their living room, his cap under his arm and a grim expression on his face, they knew that something was wrong.
Stan felt his stomach churn on seeing the frightened look on Frances’s face.
The officer, Colonel Marks, turned a letter over in his hand before handing it over.
‘O’Malley was picked to go on a secret mission in order to gather information prior to the invasion of Europe. The plane he was in was shot down. I can’t tell you where he is, of course. All I can say is that we’ve lost contact with him. But he’s well trained. He knows what’s coming and that it’s best to lie low for the time being.
I’m sure you’ll understand, and please, please don’t give up hope.’
After he’d gone, they all fell to silence. Frances’s hands were trembling. Ruby patted her on the shoulder.
‘I’m sure he’ll be all right.’
Stan Sweet was oddly quiet. ‘Does Declan speak any foreign language?’
His question came right out of the blue.
Frances tried to think, but it was Ruby who answered.
‘I think he said his mother was German and he could speak the language.’ She frowned, not sure what her father was thinking.
Stan Sweet looked from his daughter to his niece. ‘I think he was lying. He told you both he was military police. I think he was military intelligence.’ He looked at Frances. ‘Prepare yourself for a long wait.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
May 1945: Victory in Europe
Church bells rang out the news of the German surrender, people danced in the street, and a bonfire sent sparks exploding into the sky.
‘It’s over! He’ll be home,’ shouted Frances, her voice quaking with a mixture of laughter and relief. ‘Germany’s surrendered!’
Stan declined going along to witness the village bonfire, get drunk and eat jacket potatoes pulled directly from the fire.
Instead, he went down to the graveyard that evening, keen to impart everything that had occurred in recent months to his darling departed wife.
The air was balmy and the summer bees were already buzzing in and out of the wildflowers.
His joints creaked as he knelt down beside his wife’s tombstone. ‘I’m getting older, Sarah my love, but I’m still here.’ He sighed as he readjusted his arm to rest more comfortably. ‘There’s a lot of young men who are not.’
He bowed his head in respect to those who would never come home, including Charlie.
‘You may recall I told you some time back that Sefton’s girl, Frances, now has a child of her own. Her name’s Daisy. She’s a bonny little thing. We’re awaiting word that her father has survived and is going to do the honourable thing. He’s an American officer, military intelligence and right in the thick of it, from what I can see. It’s been hard for him to get away from the conflict, but we’re fairly certain he’s alive and he has promised Frances they’ll marry the moment he can get to England. He’s quite a bit older than her but she’s adamant that he’ll come back. I hope she’s right for her sake and that of the little one. Children born out of wedlock have never had it easy. And you know what the village is like – even if they’ll never say anything to my face. Anyway, the Germans have surrendered so we’re hoping he’ll soon be in touch. Ruby is still waiting to hear from that young man who used to drive her around. We won’t know much about him until the Japanese surrender, and so far they’re showing no sign of doing that. In the meantime, she’s busying herself with her job and Frances is helping her. But of course that’s all coming to an end. Things are less stiff and serious now, so much so that they take Charlie and Daisy with them …’
The road they needed to take was blocked with people in uniform and the ominous presence of an army vehicle marked ‘Bomb Disposal’.
‘Sorry. You can’t go down ’ere, love. There’s an unexploded thousand pounder down ’ere. You’ll have to go up Fairfax Street and bear left from there.’
Ruby sighed resignedly and thanked the man. It wasn’t his fault that the Germans had dropped a bomb that hadn’t exploded, or that it hadn’t been detected soon after it fell that night back in 1940 when the heart had been ripped out of the city. Not that their surroundings were much improved on the route he’d suggested.
Ruined buildings lined their route, stairs precariously clinging to exposed walls climbing to non-existent upper floors, blackened facades fronting bombed-out and empty interiors.
Ruby and Frances eyed the sad scene with utmost dismay, Frances with Daisy in her arms and hugging Charlie to her side. The last thing she wanted was for him to see the grim reality of this war. Buildings that had survived centuries of other wars, other catastrophes, had been totally destroyed back in ’40 and ’41. She was no expert but judged it would be some time before new buildings would grow from the ashes of the old.
‘We’re half an hour late,’ muttered Ruby as she eyed the assembled crowd. It was probably a bit more than that and the crowd would be impatient. Whether she liked it or not, Ruby’s talk and demonstration would be as much about entertainment as information on struggling along on meagre rations.
Shops with patched-up windows attracted long queues. Half the time, people weren’t entirely sure what they were queuing for, but joined the long line of people in the hope of ending up with something worthwhile, perhaps liver, onions, or tins of meat brought in by merchant ships from the other side of the Atlantic. There were also rumoured to be extra rations in order that people could celebrate the final victory. Everyone was planning street parties. Today Ruby’s demonstration was about sandwiches, cakes and as many sweet-tasting delicacies as possible.
The van with the drop-down side was already in situ. To Ruby’s surprise, Andrew Sinclair was standing there beside it. On seeing them arrive, he pulled back the cuff of his jacket to peer at his wristwatch, a smart affair with an ivory face and a strap made of crocodile skin.
I could do without you being here, thought Ruby. The fact that he’d lied to his mother about their relationship was not her concern and she never mentioned it. So far neither had he.
Everything was ready for her. Not only had he let down the drop-down side, thus forming a counter, he had also fired up the gas ring and got out what he thought were the things she might need today.
After making sure that Frances was coping with the children, Ruby turned her attention to the crowd that had gathered. She pasted on a hasty smile, the straw hamper bumping against her side before Andrew took it from her. Once that was gone, she addressed the crowd. ‘Sorry for being a bit late. There was an unexploded bomb and we were diverted.’
There were only a few half-baked grumbles. Most people had learned to accept the shortages, the delays and the fact that things were not so dependable as before the war.
‘Oh, well. At least you’re here now, love and that’s all that matters.’
The speaker was a pink-faced woman with china-blue eyes and a hat that sat on her head as flat as a pancake. Only the addition of a limp feather sticking from one side marked it out as a hat at all.
She noticed her tilting her head to one side, peering enquiringly at Frances.
‘Here,’ she suddenly exclaimed. ‘Is that you, young Frances? Well, I never.’
It was Mrs Kepple, the woman who took in lodgers and had been instrumental in reuniting Frances with her mother. To her credit, she had also been partially instrumental in reuniting Frances with Ruby and her uncle.
‘I knew she was a bad ’un, that Mildred Sweet,’ she’d said to them.
Ruby headed swiftly for Andrew Sinclair before Mrs Kepple repeated her comments all over again in the midst of these people.
‘I’ve got everything ready for you,’ said Andrew.
He stroked his moustache, a vague smile on his lips.
Ruby thanked him brusquely, immersing herself in the rest of the preparations – a good enough excuse not to be alone with him for too long. She was also thankful that Frances was helping out today, even though her help was somewhat curtailed by Charlie’s company.
Once Charlie held a piece of bread and jam in his clenched fist, he sat down on one of the steps leading up into the side entry of the van, chewing slowly and contentedly. Daisy was fast asleep. He promised to keep an eye on her.
‘Ladies!’ Ruby cried out at last once everything was done. ‘Today I am going to make a chocolate cake, an ideal confection for little Johnnie’s birthday or a special Sunday tea, and perfect for a street party.’
Everyone’s ears pricked up at the magic word. Chocolate was the ultimate luxury and so lacking in this wartime world, even in its aftermath. Ruby knew when she’d conc
octed the recipe that she was on to a winner.
‘The great thing about this cake is that it needs no baking, though you do have to plan your ingredients beforehand. Number one, breadcrumbs. Save every stale slice days before making it. The ingredients are as follows:
‘Eight ounces of breadcrumbs, two ounces of margarine or butter – if you should be so lucky! Two ounces of sugar, two tablespoons of golden syrup or honey, three ounces of cocoa powder – or some real chocolate – courtesy of a friendly ally.’ A titter of subdued laughter ran through the crowd. The Americans had real chocolate.
‘If you don’t have an American friend or prefer free stockings to chocolate, then cocoa powder will have to do. All you do is to melt your margarine, sugar and syrup or honey in a saucepan then stir in the breadcrumbs and cocoa powder.’
As she talked she lined a sandwich tin using the paper greased with a pat of margarine, glancing up every so often to add some pearl of wisdom, studying the upturned faces, taking a second glance at a man in uniform, glancing swiftly away because it wasn’t Johnnie. It couldn’t be Johnnie.
She went on to outline another recipe for chocolate cake, this time using flour. The chocolate icing she’d devised was based yet again on margarine and golden syrup, though here again she referred to the likelihood of knowing a generous American and using real chocolate.
By the end of the session, the smell of chocolate was getting to her. So was the look on Andrew Sinclair’s face. When was it he’d switched his desire to her from her sister? It didn’t matter. What did matter was keeping her job for now and having him pay Frances for helping out.
Frances had the job of circulating with the chocolate cake that, although it hadn’t stood for long enough, was now cut into pieces. It wasn’t long before there were only crumbs remaining, and even these were picked up on the ends of wet fingers and sucked greedily into hungry mouths.
‘Lovely talk, my dear.’ Ruby was washing and packing things away, Andrew hovering at her shoulder and yet again urging her to consider an appointment in London. ‘It could lead to great things.’