Everybody's Somebody

by Beryl Kingston

  And a long day it was, because they caught the first train out of Victoria. Rosie and Gracie got up at dawn to strip the single beds and make them up again all fresh and clean and put the dirty sheets and the wet towels to steep in the copper. ‘So as not to leave any evidence behind in case he comes here,’ Rosie said to Jim. At breakfast Gracie explained that she and Mary were going to Binderton too, ‘then Mum can look after Aunty Kitty and we can take a twin apiece.’ So there were six of them travelling which worked out very well, because it meant that they had a compartment to themselves and that gave Kitty a chance to tell Rosie what had happened to her the previous day. She’d been thinking about it off and on all night and now it was necessary to spill it all out and weep it through, even though crying took away what little breath she had left.

  ‘’E’s such a tartar,’ she said. ‘We ’ave ter… give ’im… ’is own way in… everything… or you never heard such ructions. ’E was all on an’ on… about the Jews… an’ how they was filthy dirty… an’ they ought to be… got rid of, an’ I couldn’t… stand it… no more. An’ the way he… lays into my… poor boys… you’d never believe.’

  ‘Well you’ve left him now, ent you?’ Rosie said. ‘You don’t have to see him ever again. Not if you don’t want to. It’s all over. Dry your eyes. We’re nearly at Chichester.’

  When they reached the halt at Lavant, Rosie and Gracie walked on either side of their poor Kitty so that she could lean on their arms all the way to the cottage and Mary followed behind them, holding the twins’ hands. It seemed odd to them to be walking through the fields in such a sombre procession. But once they reached the cottage, they had such a loving welcome that the day was completely changed.

  ‘My stars!’ Johnnie said when he opened the door. ‘What’s happened to you?’

  ‘She’s been beat up by that horrible husband of hers,’ Rosie told him.

  ‘My stars!’ Johnnie said again. ‘Come in. I got a leg a’ lamb in the oven. I was just givin’ it a bastin’. Look who’s come, Pa. It’s our Rosie, an’ Kitty an’ the kiddies.’

  They crowded into the cottage and were kissed and hugged and the tale was told again, this time in rather easier detail.

  ‘Just as well we got a joint,’ Pa said, grinning at his son. ‘He’s turned out ever such a good cook. Ent you, Johnnie?’

  ‘We’ll need a few more vegetables though,’ Johnnie said. ‘I’ve only got enough for the two of us. There’s lots in the garden. The beans ’ave come along lovely this year.’

  ‘The kids’ll pick ’em,’ Rosie said. ‘Where’s your tayties? I’ll do them.’

  So the meal was prepared, and more chairs borrowed from the neighbours and they sat round Pa’s familiar table and made what he called ‘a plan of action’.

  ‘We can’t have our Kitty knocked about,’ he said. ‘That ’ud never do.’

  ‘I thought… he’d come back… after me, today,’ Kitty told him. ‘That’s why Rosie brought me… here.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Pa said. ‘You’ll be safe here. You can sit out in the sun. Get a spot a’ fresh air. Have you right in no time.’ He was taking command and quite his old self, frail though he looked. Dear Pa, Rosie thought. Hadn’t she known this was the best place to come to?

  By the time they’d done justice to the roast, everything was settled. Kitty and the boys would have the girls’ old room and there was a rubber sheet. Kids who wet the bed were no problem in that house.

  ‘Have we got to go to school?’ Bobby asked.

  ‘Not till September,’ Pa told him. ‘There’s no rush. Have a nice long summer in the fields eh? Put some roses in your cheeks. That’s the style.’

  ‘You can go to the village school,’ Rosie told them. ‘That’s where me, an’ Johnnie, an’ Tess, an’ Edie went. You’ll like it there.’

  ‘I’ll take you down the river, arter dinner,’ Johnnie said. ‘Might find some tiddlers. That ’ud be a lark.’

  ‘An’ me an’ the girls’ll make a bit of a cake,’ Rosie said. ‘How would that be?’

  ‘You can take some back to your Jim,’ Pa said. ‘Left on his own, poor critter.’

  ‘He’s holding the fort, Pa,’ Rosie explained. ‘In case Kitty’s husband comes after her.’

  ‘Won’t do him no good if Jim’s there,’ Pa said and chuckled.

  Chapter 25

  Herbert Matthews got up late that morning, feeling irritable and annoyed. He’d waited for his dinner for over an hour the previous evening. Over an hour mark you. It wasn’t as if he’d been impatient. And then, when he’d gone out to chivvy her up a bit, he’d found an empty house and nothing to eat except a chunk of sweaty cheese and some stale bread, which was most unsatisfactory. It was an absolute disgrace. He couldn’t think what she was playing at.

  Oh well, he told himself as he got ready for bed, she’ll come back when it’s dark. She’s bound to. She won’t want to stay out there all on her own in the dark. And neither will those two stupid boys. On which satisfactory thought he settled to sleep. But the house was still empty the next morning and there was no one to cook him his breakfast and, by then, her absence was making him angry.

  She’s run off to that brother of hers, he thought, telling tales. That’s what she’s done. The idea brought a spasm of fear because Jim was a big bloke and he remembered that he’d been a docker before the war — as Kitty was constantly telling him — and everybody knew what yobs they were, but he recovered himself resolutely. I’m not having any nonsense, he thought. I shall go straight there and bring her back home where she belongs. Then we’ll see who’s boss.

  He dressed himself very carefully in his second-best suit and a clean white shirt with a stiff collar and applied plenty of Brylcreem to his hair so that it would lie flat even if he got into a temper and set off. It took him quite a time to find the right place. He’d assumed that Jim and Rosie would live in a house of some kind, the way most respectable people did, so to discover that it was a flat above a newsagents — and one that opened on a Sunday, what’s more — gave him a distinct sense of superiority. If they’re hiding her up there, I shall soon have her out, he thought, and strode into the shop.

  ‘Mr Matthews,’ he announced to the shopkeeper. ‘Come to see Mr and Mrs Jackson.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Mr Rogers said, giving him a long look and he went through the door and called up the stairs, ‘Visitor fer you Jim,’ the way he and Jim had arranged.

  ‘Send ’im up,’ Jim called back.

  So Mr Rogers did, saying. ‘Top a’ the stairs turn right.’

  How common, Herbert thought. But they’d be easy to handle in a place like this.

  Jim was waiting at the top of the stairs and led him into the kitchen without saying a word. Then he sat down in his chair and left his visitor standing.

  There’s no call for rudeness, Herbert thought, but he decided to ignore it for the moment. ‘Nice to see you Jim,’ he said smoothly. ‘You don’t happen to know where Kitty is, do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Jim said. ‘An’ if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.’

  Herbert was ruffled. ‘There’s no need to take that tone, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘I asked you a civil question. I expect a civil answer.’

  ‘What you expect an’ what you’ll get, are two different things,’ Jim said, ‘as you’ll find out.’

  ‘I expect my brother-in-law to help me to find my wife,’ Herbert said stiffly, adding sarcastically, ‘if that’s not too much to ask. I know she’s here.’

  Jim got out of his chair. ‘She ain’t ’ere,’ he said. ‘There’s no one here but me. But I’ll give you a guided tour an’ you can see fer yerself.’ He led Herbert round the flat from one unoccupied room to the next and when they were back on the landing again, he said, ‘See?’

  ‘Well she’s not here now,’ Herbert admitted. ‘I’ll grant you that. But she can’t just go running off because we have a little argument.’

  Jim’s face darkened alarmingly. ‘Argument?’ he s
aid. ‘You beat the shit out of her.’

  ‘So you have seen her,’ Herbert sneered. ‘She has been here.’

  Before the words were out of his mouth, Jim had seized him by throat and thrust him bodily against the wall. ‘Yeh. I’ve seen her,’ he said, ‘so you listen an’ you listen good. If you ever lay so much as a finger on my sister ever again, I’ll punch your stinkin’ teeth right down your stinkin’ throat.’

  Herbert struggled to fight back but he was held too firmly to move. ‘You can’t talk to me like that,’ he squeaked. ‘I’ll call the police. I’ll have the law on you.’

  ‘You call the police, Sunshine,’ Jim growled, holding him against the wall. ‘You go ahead an’ do it, an’ I’ll show ’em the way you’ve treated my sister an’ then I’ll have the law on you. You can’t go round punchin’ women whenever you feel like it an’ think you’re gonna get away with it.’

  ‘She’s my wife,’ Herbert protested. ‘I can do what I like with my wife. And you can’t stop me.’

  ‘You wanna bet?’ Jim said, banging him against the wall again. ‘I’ll smash you ter pulp.’ His anger was so powerful it was shaking him.

  Herbert was afraid to look at him. ‘Now look,’ he spluttered. ‘Look here! I mean to say!’

  ‘You’re a stinkin’ little toe rag,’ Jim said and let him fall on the floor. ‘Piss off out of it! I don’t have wife-beaters in my house.’

  ‘I’ll be back,’ Herbert shouted, as he staggered down the stairs. ‘You needn’t think you can beat me. I know my rights. She’s my wife. You tell her that.’

  But Jim was already on his way back to the kitchen, flexing his knuckles, and took no notice of him.

  Later that day, when Pa and the others were sitting round the cottage table again, eating her cake, Rosie told them all what she was going to do next.

  ‘We shall have to catch the train presently,’ she said, ‘on account a’ getting the girls home for school, but first thing tomorrow morning I shall go out and hire a furniture van. I’ll send you a postcard when I’ve done it, Kitty, and then you can come up to Tooting on Tuesday an’ we’ll collect your things. You got your return ticket, ent you? Right. Don’t go in the house till I’m there, in case he’s at home. Just wait for me at the corner a’ Church Lane. All right?’

  It was a well-planned operation. Kitty met the van as she was told and was very impressed by the size of it and the nice kind man who was driving it, and when they went to the house, it was empty.

  ‘Just take whatever’s yours,’ Rosie told her, ‘an’ anythin’ else you fancy that’s small enough for him not to notice. I’ve got some boxes for your clothes an’ the china.’

  It took them the entire morning to pack even the few things Kitty decided to take and by the time the van had been driven to Binderton it was past teatime.

  ‘Your gels’ll be home from school be now,’ Kitty worried. ‘Will they be all right?’

  ‘They’ll be fine,’ Rosie said. ‘They’re very grown up. I’ll be back in time to kiss ’em goodnight.’

  In fact they were so grown up, they’d cooked the supper and made a very good job of it.

  ‘You had a phone call from that artist feller a’ yours,’ Jim said, as she dished up.

  She’d forgotten all about poor Gerry and now she felt a bit guilty. ‘He rang before, while all this was going on an’ I promised to ring him back,’ she remembered. ‘An’ then so many things happened it went clean out a’ my head. I’ll ring him in the morning.’

  Which she did and was rather chastened when he said, ‘I thought you’d forgotten all about me.’

  ‘How can I help you?’ she said, trying to make amends. ‘You said there was something you wanted.’

  ‘I’ve got a commission for a small portrait of an ancient roman,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to sit for it.’

  She agreed at once, saying of course she would, providing he didn’t make her look too ancient. And when he asked whether she could start that morning, she agreed with that too.

  After all the drama of the last four days it was peaceful in his house in Cheyne Walk. Everything was so blessedly unchanged. It took him ages to prepare her for the portrait just as it always did. The long tunic had to be carefully draped and her hair had to be pinned up to look like a chignon and tied with plaited ribbon, but she found it comforting because it was what she expected. However, when she was posed in exactly the position he wanted, he stood back, took a long look at her and said something she didn’t expect. ‘This could be the last time you pose for me.’

  ‘Are you going away?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, my dear beautiful Helen,’ he told her. ‘I’m going to America.’

  ‘What for?’ she asked. ‘Is it another exhibition?’

  ‘No,’ he said sadly. ‘The truth is, I’m running away.’

  To hear him say such a thing made her shiver. ‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ she said. ‘What are you running from?’

  That answer gave her a shock. ‘The war.’

  ‘What war?’

  ‘The one that’s coming. Sooner or later people will have to stand up to Herr Hitler.’ And when she looked puzzled. ‘Haven’t you heard about the concentration camps? You must have done. It’s been in all the newspapers.’

  Now that he’d reminded her, she remembered there’d been something about a new concentration camp only the other week. ‘Dachau,’ she said, pronouncing it Datch-or. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? It’s where Hitler’s going to lock a lot more people up. Gypsies, it said in my paper.’

  ‘Gypsies, Jews, and other subnormals,’ he quoted, and he retreated behind the easel and started to paint. It was some time before he spoke again and then it was with a controlled anger that was so unlike him, she was shaken by it. ‘They call us untermensch,’ he said. ‘Subhuman. If Hitler gets his way — and I can’t see anyone stopping him now — not without a war — we shall be exterminated like so much vermin. That’s what these camps are for. To kill Jews. And gypsies and anyone else he hates. He’s unleashing the most terrible cruelty.’

  She wanted to say it couldn’t be true, but she was remembering the twisted faces of the black-shirts in Worthing, as they rushed in to beat people up and the awful way Herbert had beaten poor Kitty. So she just said, ‘Yes,’ very sadly, and went on posing, gazing at the peaceful river the way she usually did.

  ‘The artists are leaving Germany in droves,’ he said after a while. ‘Berthold Brecht and Kurt Weill have gone already. I can’t say I blame them. He really hates them. And Kandinsky and Paul Klee are planning to go.’

  The names meant nothing to her, so she didn’t answer him. It was easier to pose when she wasn’t talking and he was talking enough for both of them, telling her what a twisted megalomaniac Hitler was and how he’d been vilifying the German Jews for years and blaming them for the ten million unemployed and everything else that was wrong in the country. ‘You should see some of the dreadful cartoons the papers are printing,’ he said. ‘They’re caricatures, of course — Jews with huge hooked noses and rapacious expressions — and they’re being used to stir up hatred. Once you believe the cartoons, Jews become the easiest people to hate and blame. And once you start blaming people, the next step is to kick them out of the country or kill them. Nobody believes it in this country.’

  ‘I do,’ she said. ‘It’s what my ghastly brother-in-law says.’ And she told him how Herbert had joined the BUF and how he’d beaten poor Kitty.

  ‘That’s horrible,’ he said. ‘But it doesn’t surprise me. It’s all of a piece with what’s going on in Germany. These are ugly times. I tell you Rosie, if Hitler has his way, in a year or two there won’t be a Jew left alive in the whole of Germany. And God help the Polish Jews if he invades Poland. Or any of us if he comes here.’

  ‘Will he?’ she asked.

  ‘Very likely. He wants an empire, you see. All the big boys want empires these days. The smaller the ego the more they want to grab an empire. I think he’ll invade
a lot of places, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Russia even. His ambition is boundless. He says he’s going to build a “Third Reich” and it’s going to last for a thousand years. So yes. He could well come here, and I don’t want to be around if he does.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d want to be either, if I were a Jew,’ she said, ‘if that’s what’s going to happen.’

  There was a very long pause while he painted, and she thought about what he’d been saying. Then he spoke again, almost tentatively. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to come with me, would you?’ he asked.

  The question buzzed in the air between them, growing more significant by the second. It was an unfair temptation and they were both aware of it, he shaken by his uncharacteristic daring, she flattered to be asked and undeniably tempted. The thought of living in America, being spoilt and pampered, with nothing to do but model, right away from housework and family worries and all the cruel things that were happening because of those hideous Fascists, was enough to tempt a saint. If he’d asked her when their affair was just beginning and Jim was being such hard work, poor man, she might well have agreed to it. Now, so much had changed in their lives and so much had happened, it was impossible even to think about it. But impossible not to.

  ‘I couldn’t do that,’ she said, eventually. ‘You know that, don’t you. Even if I wanted to. I couldn’t leave Jim and my girls.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed from behind the easel. ‘Of course. You couldn’t do it. It was just a thought.’ And he continued to paint in silence while she went on posing.

  Their odd exchange cast a chill over the rest of the day and kept them both rather quiet. When he was driving her home, he asked, almost tentatively, if she would model for him again the next day. ‘I’d like to get this finished before I go,’ he said, ‘so I’ve only got tomorrow.’