A Wartime Secret

by Annie Murray

  ‘They’ll be dying to see you,’ she said, on tenterhooks to get to Barbara. If only he’d get going!

  But he sat on at the table, smoking one cigarette after another and seemingly in a world of his own. Eventually, when she had busied herself with breakfast and washing-up, she could stand it no longer.

  ‘I’ve just got to pop down the shops for a few things,’ she said. She gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Won’t be long.’

  She tore down the street, patches of wetness seeping through the cotton of her blouse. After this longest-ever separation she was desperate to see Barbara, convinced that her little girl would have been crying for her all night, or that something awful would have happened.

  She burst into her sister’s house. ‘Joan?’

  ‘Here.’

  There was no sound of any crying. In the kitchen she found Joan at the table with Davey on the floor and Barbara in her lap, looking perfectly cheerful. For a second Grace felt hurt. Barbara appeared to be quite happy without her.

  ‘She been all right?’ she panted.

  ‘Course. Look, Baba – who’s here?’ She handed the little girl over and Grace settled down to feed her. It was a lovely relief to hold her in her arms again.

  ‘She was a bit restless at first – daint want the bottle, after you, but she took it in the end. She’s been a little darlin’ for me, haven’t you?’ She stroked the baby’s face with her finger and sat down again, her face serious. ‘So – how’s Ted?’

  The tears that had been waiting all morning came pouring out then.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Grace sobbed. ‘Oh, Joan – he hardly looks like my Ted any more. He’s so thin and he just sits there staring as if he’s a million miles away. And some of his toes’ve dropped off . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He said . . . I don’t know. He won’t say anything hardly.’ She wiped her own tears from Barbara’s plump cheek. ‘Summat about losing them in Germany. I mean, I’m glad to have him home, course I am. But I don’t know where to start with him . . . Let alone her . . .’ She looked down at her contented child. ‘He’s going over to see his mom and dad. Or he said he was. Daint seem to want to move.’

  After a moment Joan said, ‘Well, he’s bound to have to adjust. I ’spect he just needs things to get back to normal. It’s been a long time. Tell you what, when Norm gets in, we’ll pop round and see you both. Pol and Jen, the little wenches next door, are mad about babbies – they’ll pop round for a bit and stay with her and Davey. I ’spect Ted needs to see people – like before. Take him out of himself.’

  ‘All right,’ Grace said. She felt a bit doubtful as to how happy Ted was going to be to see Norm, who had been tucked up at home doing the same job all through the war, but she knew Joan was trying to help.

  ‘And this one’ll be all right for a day or two with me,’ Joan went on. ‘It’ll be good for her, taking from the bottle. It’ll help with weaning her off you.’

  Grace looked at her sister’s homely face and felt a surge of fondness and gratitude.

  ‘Thanks, sis. It’s not everyone’d do this . . . Not after, you know . . .’

  ‘After you carrying on like a flaming idiot with no sense, you mean?’ Joan looked severely at her.

  ‘Something like that, yeah.’ Grace lifted Barbara, who had finished feeding, and cuddled her. ‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ she said, defensively. It sounded feeble even as she said it.

  ‘Yes – and some of them are flaming bigger ones than others.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ She had heard this many times before and didn’t want to hear yet again the lecture about how foolish and disgraceful she was – as if she didn’t know. ‘I’ll go and change her and then I’d better get back.’ She looked at Joan. ‘Thanks, sis.’

  Grace hurried back to Inkerman Street via the shops. When she got in, Ted was not there. She was worried by how much this filled her with relief.

  Another thought chilled her, though. Who might Ted meet while he was out? Mrs Fitzgerald? Pray God, no. His other pals. Larry and Ern and that lot – well, Ern was away in the army himself and Larry – she hadn’t seen him in a very long time. None of them knew about Barbara. She found herself checking off anyone they knew, anyone who might say anything. There were only a couple of girls at the factory where she had worked who knew she was expecting – and people close by in the neighbourhood. She’d just have to hope none of them would say anything to him. She breathed a little more easily.

  She did her bits of housework quickly, with no baby interruptions. The house felt very empty without Barbara. She had already readied the place for Ted’s arrival yesterday and apart from sweeping out the downstairs room, wiping the table and peeling the last few spuds, there was not much to do. Needing to keep busy, she hand-washed the clothes Ted had taken off and took them outside to hang up.

  The garden was a little strip with the brick privy just outside to the right. At the far end was a rough wall against which leaned the remains of an old wooden pigeon coop left by the previous occupant. The rest was mostly grass, except for her little patch where she had dug for victory and planted vegetables along the dilapidated fence.

  As she hung out Ted’s shirt she took deep breaths of the morning air, looking across at the blue slate rooftops of the neighbouring Ladywood street. She could feel the milk gathering in her breasts again, the thud of her blood. Every part of her felt tense, her stomach turning queasily. Help me, someone . . .

  She could hear women’s voices from a couple of gardens away, two of her neighbours canting over the wall. She thought she could just make out Mrs Fitzgerald’s snooty tones, gossiping as usual, and Grace retreated quickly inside.

  She was thinking about putting the dinner on when there was a knock at the door. On the step she found Ted. For a second it was almost as strange as the first time.

  ‘What’re you knocking for?’ she asked, with a nervous laugh. ‘This is your house.’

  ‘I dunno,’ he said, stepping in. ‘It just feels funny, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m making dinner.’ She had watered down the stew again, added a bit of turnip. Everything they ate was about eking out. She made busy at the stove. ‘We must get your ration book. How’re your mom and dad?’

  ‘Oh, all right, yeah,’ Ted said. He stood in the kitchen, hands pushed into his pockets, a long sagging figure. ‘Yeah, they’re all right.’

  He had never been a great talker but this was different. He seemed utterly lost in his own home.

  ‘I saw Joan,’ Grace said, keeping her voice light, as if everything was normal. She lifted the pan of boiled potatoes to drain them. ‘She said they’d pop over later.’

  ‘Cooee – it’s me – and Norm!’ She heard Joan’s voice at the front when it was already evening, the light beginning to fade.

  ‘Come in!’ Grace called, relieved to have other company.

  While she and Ted ate their dinner together earlier, Grace had made bright attempts at conversation, asking more about Mr and Mrs Chapman and saying, without really meaning it, that she should go and see them soon too. But his replies were so brief that soon silence fell again. Ted seemed exhausted by his morning’s activity and as soon as he had finished eating, he went up and lay on the bed.

  Grace didn’t know what to do with herself. She was used to her day revolving round Barbara’s needs. She thought about running to Joan’s again, but knew she shouldn’t. She crept up and got on the bed beside Ted. For a moment she sat looking down at his face. The sight of him filled her with tenderness mixed with dread. She lay down, listening to his loud breathing as her mind spun and spun. At last she dozed for a while, then woke, bewildered.

  The afternoon had crawled by, full of the distant sound of children playing outside.

  Now Ted was downstairs again and she had reminded him Joan and Norm were coming. It was reassuring to see her sister’s plump form in the doorway in her yellow frock printed with flowers. Her hair was loose and rolled and pinned back
from her forehead. She thought guiltily how tired Joan looked, bags under her eyes.

  Their eyes met – is Barbara all right? – and Joan gave a tiny nod back, her lips flicking into a smile for a second.

  Norm was a small, compact man, no taller than his wife. His brown hair was slicked back, sleeves rolled. He had a round, pink face and was perpetually cheerful. Today, though, Grace could see that he looked uneasy and her stomach tightened with worry. Surely Norm wouldn’t say anything about Barbara, would he? Not now?

  Ted got slowly to his feet. Grace could see it cost him effort. She watched nervously.

  ‘Hello, Ted,’ Joan said, coming and kissing him. She held his arms and looked warmly at him. ‘It’s nice to have you back with us, love. It’s been a very long time.’

  ‘Ta, Joanie,’ Ted said. He managed a smile. He and Joan had always got along. He looked over her shoulder, saying, ‘All right, Norm?’ Grace could hear the wariness in his voice.

  ‘All right, lad?’ Norm said breezily, advancing on him as Joan stepped out of the way. ‘Nice to see you.’ With a chuckle he added, ‘Back from that holiday camp of yours, then?’

  Ted reacted instantly, with full force. He drew his arm back and punched Norm so hard in the jaw that he staggered and fell back into the table. Losing his balance, he slithered to the floor.

  ‘Ted!’ Grace cried, horrified. She was amazed that Ted could manage to hit anyone so hard. ‘Oh my God, Norm – are you all right?’

  ‘Christ.’ Amid the commotion, Norm sat stunned on the floor rubbing his jaw.

  Joan reached her hand out to her husband. ‘Come on, Norm,’ she said quietly. ‘Get up.’ She looked at Ted warily, but with understanding. ‘He daint mean it, did yer, Ted?’

  Grace’s heart was pounding, her hands clammy. She had never seen her husband behave like this ever before. She was afraid of what was happening, of this new Ted, and of what Norm might say next. Your wife’s bastard child is in our house, Ted, did you know that?

  To her eternal gratitude, Norm did not say it. He got slowly to his feet, still rubbing a hand over his jaw. They all stood round. Ted was quivering, breathing hard, gulping breaths, obviously trying to control his emotions and not succeeding.

  ‘Sorry, pal.’ Norm’s usually cocky demeanour was subdued for once. ‘I never meant . . .’

  ‘Sorry . . .’ Ted managed. Grace could hear that he was close to tears. ‘I’m just . . . Sorry . . .’ He put his head down and hurriedly disappeared out of the back door.

  ‘Look – we’ll come back another day,’ Joan said. ‘What did you have to go and say that for, Norm?’

  ‘I never meant it – it was just a joke.’ He shook his head. ‘Come on – best get home. See yer, Grace . . .’

  ‘Sorry,’ Grace said helplessly. She felt suddenly very afraid. ‘He’s just a bit . . .’

  Joan turned as she and Norm headed out of the door. ‘Don’t worry, sis. You’ll be all right, won’t you? But it’s best we go, I think. See you soon, eh?’

  Grace stood alone in the back room and saw her husband out in the garden, standing alone, thin as a pole, staring ahead of him.

  7

  ‘Ted?’

  Grace spoke into the darkness as she lay beside him that second night. He was lying on his back and she could tell he was not asleep. He had hardly said a word since the incident with Norm.

  There was no reply.

  ‘I know you’re awake, love.’ Her heart was thumping again. She felt so nervous, trying to approach the man she had been married to for almost nine years. It was like trying to break into a locked cupboard.

  There was a long silence, which felt to her like being pushed away. Hurt and rejected, she started to cry.

  ‘Oh, Ted,’ she sobbed, her head against his shoulder. ‘I’m your wife. Why won’t you talk to me?’

  She felt him breathe in deeply and let out a sigh from the very depths of him.

  ‘I never meant to hit him,’ he burst out suddenly. ‘It just . . . I dunno. I forgot who I was . . . And he should never’ve said what he said . . .’

  ‘It’s all right.’ She stroked his chest with timid fingers, overjoyed to hear him say anything at all. ‘Norm was all right. He understands you’ve been . . .’ She trailed off. Been what? She had no real idea. ‘Ted – can’t you talk to me? Tell me what’s happened?’

  He sat up in bed so suddenly that his elbow collided with the side of her head, hurting her.

  ‘What’s happened?’ His voice rang out like a shout in the quiet. ‘Five years of my life’s what’s happened. Five years of my bloody useless life down the pan. And now I’m . . .’

  Cutting himself off, he climbed out of bed.

  ‘Ted,’ she begged, crying all the more because it almost felt as if he had hurt her on purpose. He was pulling on his trousers. ‘Don’t – it’s late – where’re you going?’

  ‘I dunno. Out. To ’ave a bit of peace.’

  He picked up his shoes and stormed downstairs. A few moments later she heard the front door bang.

  After crying herself out, Grace slept for a time. But she did hear Ted come back, what felt like an age later, and slide into bed beside her. She was up long before him the next morning, dashing to Joan’s to feed and cuddle Barbara before Ted was even awake.

  ‘You look terrible,’ Joan observed.

  ‘Yeah. Well.’

  She felt too low and exhausted to talk. Her head was throbbing. She looked down at Barbara, pink and lovely, enjoying her morning feed. If only she could just go somewhere quiet and peaceful, just her and her little girl. All these years longing for Ted to come home and now he was here, it would have felt easier if he had not come back. Shame washed through her. What a terrible thing, to be thinking that it might have been easier to be a widow.

  ‘He’ll settle down,’ Joan said cautiously.

  She didn’t ask Grace when she was going to tell Ted about the baby.

  He appeared downstairs at about eleven, just as she got back from the shops. It felt easier to be out, to keep moving, to stand in a queue with the usual ration hunters, complaining about how they were supposed to put a meal on the table every day. There must still be a handful of spuds left in the garden, she was thinking as she emptied her shopping bag of tiny rations of cheese and meat.

  And there he was, standing by her, looking terrible, like a beaten dog.

  ‘I’m sorry, Grace.’ Tears started to run down his face and his shoulders were shaking. ‘I’m sorry . . .’

  They held each other then, both crying. And then in the middle of it, Ted pushed her away, gently, but as if he could not manage any more, and wiped his face roughly.

  ‘What’s to eat?’ he said. His voice was rough as well.

  Somehow they lived through those first days.

  Grace found excuses to be out first thing – she must go to the shops, deliver something to a friend, take something to Joan . . . Ted was sleeping badly so he was often still in bed until late into the morning and Grace could dash to Joan’s and back without him noticing. He needed to rest nearly all the time.

  They moved around each other. Some nights, they made love in the dark of their bed, without speaking. Grace ached with missing Barbara. She tried to keep cheerful, to be kind, heartbroken as she felt.

  She kept telling herself that she must give Ted time. Whatever had happened to him, he needed to get used to being at home. And she was his wife. She had done a terrible thing. The least she could do was to look after him.

  8

  For most of that first week, Ted didn’t go out. He slept, he sat, he stood in the garden for many minutes at time, staring at nothing in particular. He smoked. Grace started to feel she would go mad. If only he had to go to work! The old days of Ted disappearing every morning in his dark-blue overalls, a jacket slung over the top, with a packet of sandwiches and a bottle of tea, seemed like heaven. Everything before the war, when things were right and there were no lies or secrets, seemed like a dream now.

/>   She felt lonelier than she had ever been during the war. Then, she had had Nora living here, good-natured and easy-going. There were the other girls at work. But now, she felt alone and weighed down.

  So that when, on Friday, Ted suddenly announced he was going to see his friend Larry (something Grace had suggested umpteen times to no avail), it seemed like a wonderful development. Up until now he had not even told his pals he was home.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said, her heart lifting with relief. Surely this was a good sign? Larry had spent the war at Bulpitts, a factory that had gone over to war production.

  The morning was crawling past. She had done her usual dash over to Barbara early on, cleaned the house, and moved around Ted as he sat in the armchair in the back room, huddled up under the rug looking frozen, even though the day was sunny outside. She was getting desperate to get out of the house again herself.

  ‘I need to go to the shops,’ she said, glad of a truthful excuse to get out. Cautiously she suggested, ‘You could go and dig up the last few spuds. Might warm you up a bit.’

  To her relief, Ted seemed pleased by this suggestion.

  ‘Least I can do summat useful,’ he said. His voice was bitter but he tried to smile.

  As he stood up, the bits of change in his pocket slipped out, sliding down into the back of the chair.

  ‘Oh, blast it . . .’ He was angry out of proportion to the annoyance, rummaging furiously in the chair, drawing out pennies and a threepenny bit. ‘There was a shilling in there . . . Ah – here we go . . .’ Hand thrust down the back of the seat, he felt around, frowning. At last he pulled out the shilling, accompanied by something soft and white. ‘What’s this, then?’

  Grace, who had been gathering up her shopping bag and ration books, turned to look. What Ted was holding gave her whole being a jolt, like an electric shock going through her. He was holding a white knitted bootee, one of Barbara’s that she had worn through the winter. Grace stared in horror at the soft thing in his hand.

  ‘Oh!’ To herself she sounded terribly flustered. ‘Well – it’s a . . . a baby’s bootee. It must’ve been there for ages.’ She laughed, trying to sound casual, and came and took it from him. ‘Yes – it must have been that time Margaret Jenkins stopped by with her babby – and he’s up and running about now!’