Eventually, they began to be aware of stiffness and one by one they eased themselves out of the close embrace. Roland mouthed silently for them to remain where they were while he tried to get out to see if it was safe for them to move. He moved with the utmost care. As he stood, the floor on which they were crouching suddenly tilted sharply.
The sounds were gentle compared to the height of the raid and because of the temporary ear damage it was movement they felt, rather than the sound of groaning and tearing wood. Patricia clung to Vanessa once more.
A part of the ceiling slithered almost apologetically and covered the cooking range and the preparation tables like a blanket. The collapse happened so silently, and in such slow motion it was unreal. Glancing at Vanessa, Patricia saw she was still opening her mouth as if in a scream which didn’t emerge as sound, only as another part of the disorientating nightmare. Then in another sudden glare of light she saw Roland’s head tilt as he looked above them. Furniture was teettering on the edge of what had once been the floor of the room above. In the darkness, lit occasionally by a fierce flame from outside, she saw the furniture slowly begin to slide.
Roland moved warily back to where she and Vanessa crouched and knelt with them. He took a hand in each of his and spoke to them but neither heard. Patricia shook her head, banged gently against the side of her head but Roland stopped her. ‘Wait. Your hearing will come back,’ he mouthed. She was about to reply but the earth seemed to curve upwards then, in an agonising shudder, the floor on which they were crouched slipped downwards towards a gaping hole. Clinging to each other they waited for the moment when they would hurtle into the cellars below.
Another great shaking as another part of a building fell. From above, furiture slid and landed near them before rolling into the chasm without a sound. Explosions they could hardly hear threw them about as the building, weakened and broken, finally fell about them.
A movement which Patricia guessed was a rat ran across their legs and Vanessa’s mouth opened in another silent scream. Another of the creatures came and sat beside Vanessa’s head as if contemplating their plight and offering assistance. Or perhaps seeking comfort in their company.
They heard no voices, but Vanessa’s screams were heard. Men cautiously entered the building with ropes and stretchers. Because of their precarious position, it was more than an hour before Roland and Vanessa were able to release their hold on the torn skirting board and their hands were bleeding, badly bruised and swollen.
Patricia’s limbs were trembling. Roland saw that Patricia was attended to by the weary first aid group but shrugged away the offer of help for himself and pointed to his sister, who was staring at the men, her eyes huge. Patricia watched as the ambulance took her away, and she clung to Roland while the shaking of her limbs went on and on; a silent tattoo. As the men worked around them she became thankfully aware that her hearing was returning.
‘You were wonderful, no panic, no foolhardy heroics,’ Roland said, his icily cold cheek pressed against her own. ‘I’m really proud of you.’
‘I wish I had a brother. Vanessa doesn’t know how lucky she is to have a brother,’ she murmured.
‘From now on, you can consider me an honourary brother. If anyone bothers you, just send for me. Right?’
They travelled together in the next ambulance but both were told they could go home after an examination. The medical services were stretched to their limits that night. They met at the ward where Vanessa had been admitted. Patricia had a hand bandaged and an arm in a sling, where the strain of supporting Vanessa had strained a muscle. Both of Roland’s hands were heavily bandaged and he smelled of the ointment the nurses had applied.
When they went into the long ward with its double row of beds, the victims of the raid were mostly sleeping. They both walked past Vanessa twice, so different did she look. It was a nurse who pointed her out.
Patricia stared at her friend, almost failing to recognise her. White-faced, her mouth distorted as if she was still preparing to scream. Her beautiful eyes were wildly staring about.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ she asked Roland in a frightened whisper. ‘She looks – odd.’
‘Shock. It affects some more than others. Vanessa has always been a bit highly strung. I was afraid she would react badly.’
They learned afterward that one hundred and sixty-five people had died that night and over two hundred houses had to be demolished.
Leonard was at the station to meet them, and he hugged his daughter, leaving her in no doubt about his relief to see her unharmed.
‘My lovely girl, we’ve all been so worried,’ he said.
‘I bet old Caradoc’ll be mad having to do my jobs as well his own for a few days,’ she said, patting her damaged arm as they walked back to Woodcutter’s Row.
‘And I have to have an explanation ready. I was due back in camp two hours ago,’ Roland said.
‘You have any trouble, just send them to me,’ Patricia said, as she hugged him affectionately. ‘Honorary sisters are fierce in protection of their own, remember.’
Chapter Three
The frightening experience of the air raid seemed, at first, to have left Patricia unscathed. Her shoulder was still painful and regardless of her pleading she had not been allowed to return to work at Caradoc’s farm. But there were no nightmares, and even the dreams of her mother’s death and the slow terrifying funeral procession had not returned to trouble her.
‘Farm work means a few aches and pains, and this is no worse than some of the muscle strain I’ve known.’ She treated the pain caused by the raid as simply another over-stretching of her strength. ‘If only the doctor would let me go back to work, I’d soon get better. It’s inactivity that’s making it ache,’ she insisted.
It had been nightmares she had dreaded and the shoulder was nothing compared with the relief of having none. There had been no reliving the terrible ordeal in Cardiff and the incident had been relegated to a good story to tell. Even Jacky had come with a bar of chocolate to listen to her version of the frightening affair. She almost felt like a heroine.
She wondered whether Roland had suffered any reaction but he was back with his unit and she couldn’t ask, not in a letter. It might have been construed as dangerous talk and the censor would run the words through with his blue pencil. She was reassured of his recovery because men were better able to deal with such things, weren’t they?
It was Vanessa they were worried about. She hadn’t escaped so lightly. Since the raid she had withdrawn into herself and refused to go out at night even to the choir rehearsals or music lessons. Her work at college had suffered too and Mr and Mrs Drew spent most of their time sitting with their distressed daughter trying to coax her out of her depression. It seemed to Patricia that her friend lived more on tablets than on food during those weeks following the raid.
Patricia visited her every day, missing part of her evening’s activities at the Youth Club and declining an invitation to go to the pictures with Jacky Davies.
‘I have to go and see Vanessa,’ she had told him regretfully, ‘Why don’t you come?’
‘What? And spend precious time listening to her going on about how badly she suffered? Soft she is and always has been.’
‘What d’you mean? She isn’t soft, she’s – well, she’s artistic and people like that feel things more,’ Patricia said.
‘Attention-seeking, that’s what she does best. Better at that she is than playing that ol’ harp of hers! I bet she hasn’t asked once about that arm of yours.’
‘Why should she? It’s better now. I’ll be back to work soon,’ she defended. Patricia had been shocked by his remarks and for a while felt anger that he could be so unfeeling, but doubts began to enter her mind and she watched her friend more closely when she next visited her.
Matthew was always there, not having been called up for war service as yet. He would sit beside the frail and exhausted-looking Vanessa and talk soothingly about what had happened, an
d, watching his face, Patricia was startled to see occasional expressions of boredom on it.
On a visit to the doctor during which she expected to be told she could return to work, she was shocked to be told that, for the forseeable future, farmwork was out. ‘Best you find something less strenuous,’ he advised. ‘If you lift something awkwardly, or carry something a bit too heavy that muscle could give you problems for years.’
Patricia didn’t tell Vanessa. She knew Jacky was right, Vanessa wouldn’t be interested in the effect of the raid on someone else. She was the injured one, the one needing support and sympathy. She walked out one evening a few weeks after the raid and Matthew followed her.
‘Poor Vanessa,’ she said. ‘She’s taking a long time getting over it, isn’t she?’
‘She’s very sensitive,’ Matthew said, with a hint of resignation. ‘Her mother warned me when we got engaged that I’d have to treat her very gently. I’m beginning to see what she means.’
‘Give it a little while, we’re all different. She might be a bit, well, dramatic, but she makes up for that in many ways. She’s been a good friend to me since we started school together. I want her to get well quickly.’
‘D’you remember when her dog was knocked down and killed?’
‘Oh yes. She was reduced to tears at the mention of it for months afterwards.’
‘D’you remember her going into hospital about that time?’
‘I remember the ambulance coming, and seeing her on a stretcher. But that was nothing to do with the dog, that was a suspected fractured tibia. She was in bandage for weeks.’ She smiled, ‘I remember Roland wrote poems all over it and all I could manage was those starting ‘there was an old lady of…’ Roland’s poems were lovely. I copied some into my scrap book.’
‘She tried to kill herself.’
‘Don’t be daft! How could you think such a thing! A broken leg they said it was. How could that can be a result of a suicide attempt? Matthew! You’re more dramatic than Vanessa to think such a stupid thing.’
‘You don’t go into the mental hospital with a broken leg. Didn’t you wonder why they never let you visit her?’
‘Rubbish!’ she insisted.
He didn’t argue further and as they had reached the corner of Ebenezer Street and Woodcutter’s Row they parted. Matthew walked off, head down in a slouching, withdrawn walk and Patricia was chuckling at his gullability. Vanessa had been having him on, there was no doubt about that. Tomorrow she would get to the Drew’s house before Matthew and talk to Vanessa about the conversation. What a good laugh they’d have.
* * *
Matthew walked home slowly, the long way, passing the end of his road and cutting through the fields along the track that led to the quarry, then pushing through the hedge into the furthest end of Limekiln Lane, where he had lodgings. Even then he didn’t go in. He wanted to think. He went straight down Limekiln Lane back to Ebenezer Street and took the turning opposite Woodcutter’s Row up through Deepcut Lane towards the farm where Patricia worked for Mr Caradoc. Before he reached the farm gates he turned off to the right and stood looking at the house in which he and Vanessa were to begin their married life.
Inside, the beginnings of a home were already in place. The kitchen boasted a sink and draining board and a table and chairs. A food cupboard stood open and empty, having been painted white. A stove in one corner was all ready to be lit and Matthew struck a match and piled on extra wood and felt the warmth of it easing away the chill of the January night and his unhappy thoughts.
An old oil lamp was on the table and he pulled up the wick, lit it and it added its light to the glow from the fire. Out here, there would be no air-raid warden shouting, ‘Put That Light Out!’ Not much of a house, he thought looking around the small room. Vanessa’s parents wanted to help them buy something better but he had insisted on doing it on his own. Over the years he would make something of it. There was plenty of land, room to extend and make a perfect home for himself, Vanessa and their children.
The windows were curtainless, but as it was night-time, they didn’t offer views of the countryside and the wide sky but reflected back only blank, unfriendly squares that seemed to suit his mood. Vanessa was supposed to be making the curtains, but he doubted if she would finish them in time for the wedding, two years hence. Could he cope with living with a woman who over-reacted to every setback and at every sign of trouble went running to her mother for sympathy and pills? He compared the beautiful Vanessa, who made him feel so proud to be with her, to Patricia’s honesty and her strength and common sense approach to life. He turned away from the windows as if someone might stare in and guess at his disloyalty.
He filled the kettle and placed it without much hope on the fire. The wood was damp and although it was burning it would be some time before there was heart enough to heat the water. He watched it for a while, listening for the first sounds of its simmering but then remembered there was no milk. He took the kettle off the heat and stared into the flames.
The fire smouldered but the damp defeated it and it died. There was no more wood inside. He toyed with the idea of getting more from the wood store but a glance at his watch told him it was past midnight and time he was in bed. Tomorrow he had milk to collect from the local farms, including Caradoc’s where Patricia had worked until the air raid had caused her injury. People wanted it cooled, bottled and delivered ready for breakfast. Like Patricia’s once had, his days meant an early start.
* * *
Patricia called earlier than usual at the Drews and was smiling as she went in to see Vanessa, prepared for a good laugh over the story told by Matthew. Her friend was scowling and Patricia’s first thought was that even when she was angry and obviously in a bad mood, Vanessa was still beautiful. Vanessa only managed to look delicately offended, her face as calm as Patricia’s would be wild. A pained look in the lovely eyes and a slightly tilted chin was all she needed to show her offence.
‘What’s up? Had a bad day? This will cheer you, wait ’til I tell you what Matthew said about—’
‘I don’t want to hear about what you and Matthew talked about!’
‘Oh? You can’t have quarrelled with him, you haven’t seen him since last night,’ Patricia frowned.
‘I didn’t need to see him to know about last night. I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to tell me about what you two talked about!’
‘What d’you mean? He walked part of the way home with me and something he said made me laugh and I—’
‘Was that before or after you spent half the night together?’
‘Vanessa!’ Exasperated, Patricia bent her knees and removing her gloves, crouched to put her hands near the flames of the fire.
‘I think you should go.’
Patricia was so surprised she fell back in an ungainly heap on the fireside rug. ‘What is the matter with you?’
‘I felt sorry for the boring evening Matthew had suffered, you and me talking and leaving him out of it. Dad and I went to his lodgings and he wasn’t home. We waited for almost two hours and he didn’t come in. Then you come here, laughing and expecting me to enjoy hearing about how you and he spent the time. He’s engaged to me and I think you’d better keep away from him – and me!’
Patricia stood up. ‘I went straight home. I might not be working but I still get up early to see to breakfast and I need my sleep. Dad was there, he’ll tell you what time I got home. Matthew left me at the corner and if he was out with another girl, then it wasn’t me.’
‘Who was it? Do you know who it was? Is he getting tired of me?’ Vanessa’s mood changed suddenly and she looked to her friend for reassurance. ‘Please, Patricia, pass me my tablets, I have to get some rest.’
‘I don’t know about Matthew getting tired of you. I know I am! I’ve turned down dates with Jacky Davies to visit you because you’ve been ill. That’s a mistake I won’t make again.’
Seething with humiliation and anger, Patricia went to call for Jacky and
although it was cold and snow was falling in a gentle shower, they walked through the streets and looked in shop windows while she talked.
‘I told you what she’s like,’ Jacky said several times between Patricia’s tirade of insults.
‘Well, now I agree with you.’
‘Not for long. You need her to fuss over as much as she needs to be fussed. A hen with a solitary chick, that’s you, Patricia. You want to live through other people, that’s your trouble. No conversation apart from your sulky friend. Now I’m off home.’
He saw her to the gate and hurried on, the snow falling faster now and obliterating his dark shape before he reached the corner.
The sound of lively conversations met her as she opened the door and she saw that the living room was full. Marion was there with her latest boyfriend, Alun Llewellyn, Elizabeth sat holding hands with Mr Caradoc’s soldier son, Will. She stood for a moment, forcing herself to shake off her anger and speak brightly.
‘Hello, Will. You home on leave then?’ she called, rushing to the fire for warmth.
‘No, he’s still in France, stupid,’ Marion said and shared a chuckle with her boyfriend Alun.
‘Vanessa’s in a funny mood so I didn’t stay. I went for a walk with Jacky but the snow is thickening and it was bitter cold. Poor Mr Caradoc up on the hill tomorrow, red nose, goose pimples, and chilblains like pickled onions, in all the wind and snow, like an orphan of the storm. And poor me, having a lie in!’ She looked at Will, so like his father with his short, stocky build and his straight brown hair and grey eyes. ‘Still, he’ll have you for company, won’t he. Lucky old you!’
‘He won’t actually,’ Elizabeth said almost casually. ‘Will and I are going into Cardiff tomorrow. To buy an engagement ring.’
‘Oh? Who for?’ Patricia teased.
‘Next door’s dog,’ Marion laughed.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘Will and I will be married soon, possibly on his next leave.’
Ice Cream in Winter Page 5