Abigale Hall

by Forry, Lauren A

  Say it, she thought. I’ll say yes if you ask. She spun the Claddagh ring on her finger.

  ‘I’ll be finished with my apprenticeship soon. Uncle Marvin says I’ll be a fine accountant, earning a good wage. I won’t have to work at the Palladium any more . . .’

  ‘Yes?’ She squeezed his arm, encouraging him. Say it . . .

  ‘Thought I might go on holiday. Leave London for a bit . . .’

  For a honeymoon, she thought. Please say . . .

  ‘If you’ll be all right without me.’

  She stopped walking.

  ‘Oh. Well,’ Eliza started. ‘If it’s what you . . .’

  ‘Hard to get abroad, but I thought maybe the Isle of Wight or the Lake District. Could be difficult, but can’t hurt trying, can it?’ He smiled and checked his watch. ‘That can’t be the time. Suppose I should be off or Uncle Marvin will have my head.’

  ‘Peter, wait.’

  ‘Work and all. You know.’

  ‘Just . . . thank you. For wasting your luncheon hour on us.’

  ‘Waste? Nonsense. What else would I do?’ He pressed his lips to Eliza’s cheek. The lingering warmth of his kiss remained as he walked the opposite way down the street. Eliza watched him, pressing her hand to the still-tingling spot below her cheekbone.

  ‘He will. One day,’ she whispered. ‘Rebecca, let’s go home. Rebecca?’ She could not spot her sister in the crowd. ‘Rebecca?’ She clutched her book with both hands.

  A squeal of tyres ended in a sick thump.

  ‘Rebecca!’

  A small crowd gathered by the street was already dispersing as Eliza ran towards it. Rebecca stood safe on the pavement, looking down. A dead cat lay by a sewer grate. Fresh blood seeped from under its carcass, the neck broken. A dark red blotch stained its chin where its mouth was frozen in a permanent scream.

  ‘Leave it. Come away. Rebecca, come away.’ Eliza grabbed her sister by the wrist and pulled her down the street.

  ‘What’s wrong, Eliza?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It was only a body, wasn’t it? What made it a cat was gone. That’s what you said when . . .’

  ‘Yes. I did. But I told you not to stare then, too, didn’t I?’ She walked quickly, straightening the collar of her blouse as she dragged Rebecca behind her, slowing only when she heard her sister crying.

  *

  Six fifteen p.m. Aunt Bess was late. The only logical explanation was that something awful had happened to her. Rebecca was too busy counting the cutlery to notice. The beef stew grew cold. All her life, Eliza had never known Aunt Bess to be late, not even by fifteen minutes. She focused on her knitting. Her mother had made the most beautiful gloves and scarves. Eliza hadn’t inherited her natural ability. The current project was a blue scarf for Peter that she had started in January. She hoped to have it finished by Christmas.

  6.20 p.m.

  What if something had happened to Aunt Bess? She was the only family Eliza and Rebecca had left. And there had been so many muggings lately. The papers blamed mothers who continued to work after the war – said there was no one to look after children, who now ran rampant through the streets.

  6.25 p.m.

  ‘Liza, can’t we eat yet?’

  ‘You know we need to wait. Why don’t you practise your cross stitch?’ Eliza handed her the sewing basket. Rebecca sat beside her on the couch and pulled out a scrap of fabric, a needle and some thread. In the flat above, the muffled sounds of It’s That Man Again drifted down from Mrs Granderson’s wireless.

  6.30 p.m.

  What if Aunt Bess had been attacked? What would happen to them if she died? Would they be separated? Rebecca wouldn’t bear being away from her again. Eliza could see Aunt Bess walking home down the street, pausing to search through her handbag for a cigarette, unaware of her surroundings. Unaware of the man sneaking up behind her. He would grab her, his meaty hand covering her mouth, preventing her from screaming as he dragged her into an alley. Aunt Bess would kick and scratch, desperate to fight him off but not possessing the strength. Her neck could snap so easily . . .

  The front door clicked open. Eliza sprang to her feet, the scarf slipping to the floor as Aunt Bess appeared, unharmed.

  ‘Good. You’re here.’ She twisted her red gloves in her hands as she avoided Eliza’s gaze.

  ‘Yes. Are you all right? We were . . .’

  A man stood behind Aunt Bess. He was tall – taller even than Mr Mosley – his great height causing his broad shoulders to slouch forward. His left arm hung loosely at his side, drawing attention to its missing counterpart, the right sleeve of his dirtied flannel shirt pinned up at the shoulder. He looked no more than thirty, but his face was a patchwork of scars, reminding Eliza of the crumbling Egyptian statues she’d seen at the British Museum as a child.

  The door smacked shut behind him.

  Aunt Bess spoke first. ‘This is Mr Drewry. He’s taking you to Wales.’

  Eliza must have heard wrong, must have still been imagining things.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she asked.

  ‘You have an hour to pack your things. Then Mr Drewry will escort you to the train station. I’ve secured you work at a house in––’

  ‘We have work. Here. In London.’

  ‘You had work in London,’ she said, removing her thinning burgundy coat. Her hands were shaking. ‘Now you have work in Wales.’

  ‘What . . . Who gives you the right?’

  ‘Your father.’

  Eliza felt Rebecca grow still beside her. She kept her attention on Aunt Bess.

  ‘He never said you could send us away from everything we’ve ever known. He never—’

  ‘He made me your legal guardian, which means I can raise you however I see fit. But, as you are an adult now, Eliza, I suppose I can’t force you to go. Yet I needn’t let you stay. From this point on, you’re no longer permitted to live here.’

  They didn’t have to leave London, she thought, thank God. And they didn’t have to live with Bess, either. Peter’s parents. They could stay with them in Shepperton. Peter was right about his apprenticeship. He’d be earning a good wage soon. Surely then he’d propose. That was all he was waiting for. She and Rebecca would pack tonight. Leave this wretched place forever. Live with people who truly cared for them. This was a blessing, really. A blessing . . .

  ‘As for Rebecca,’ Aunt Bess interrupted her thoughts. ‘She is under my care until she is of legal age. I am her guardian. Not you. And, regardless of what you choose to do, she will be going to Wales.’

  ‘No!’ Rebecca threw herself at Aunt Bess, stabbing her in the leg with the sewing needle then scratching at her stomach and face. ‘No! No, you won’t take Eliza away! I won’t let you! No!’

  ‘Rebecca!’ Eliza pulled at her sister’s shoulders, tried to get her arms around her waist, but the girl’s wiry frame was tense with rage. She could not get a hold of her.

  ‘Bitch bitch bitch!’ Rebecca screamed, now kicking Aunt Bess’s legs. Aunt Bess raised her hands in front of her face but otherwise did nothing to defend herself.

  ‘Rebecca, stop!’ Eliza begged. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she turned and saw Mr Drewry standing next to her. He pushed her aside and reached for Rebecca, but Eliza shoved him back.

  ‘No!’ She threw her entire body over Rebecca and dragged her away from their aunt.

  ‘I hate you!’ Rebecca screamed. ‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate all of you!’ She broke free from Eliza’s hold and ran into their bedroom.

  The slam of the door was the full stop to her outburst. The room went quiet. Laughter from Mrs Granderson’s wireless trickled through the ceiling.

  Eliza watched as Aunt Bess bent over and extracted Rebecca’s sewing needle from her thigh. A sheen of red glistened on the thin metal. Aunt Bess went pale then carried the needle to the kitchen sink. Eliza retreated to the bedroom. She closed the door softly behind her and rested her head on the cold wood, listening to Rebecca sobbing on the bed.

&n
bsp; She could leave all this behind tonight.

  She turned to her sister. ‘You know you mustn’t use such language. It’s very rude.’ She took her handkerchief and wiped Rebecca’s face clean of tears.

  ‘You won’t leave me, will you, Eliza?’

  Rebecca was so small for her age. Such a fragile thing, easily broken. Eliza could still see the cracks from before. Rebecca absolutely wouldn’t survive being away from her again. Eliza took a breath.

  ‘Never, dearie. We’ll stay together. Always. I promise.’

  An hour later and the room was empty save a ratty blanket, their gas masks and Aunt Bess’s derelict furniture. Their entire lives fitted into two brown suitcases, except her books. There wasn’t enough room. They remained on the shelf, abandoned, begging to be brought with them. The paperback Peter had bought her that afternoon lay abandoned on the shelf, unread and out of place. Eliza had to look away, unable to bear the sight. She wrapped up her hair in a headscarf and slipped on her ragged mauve coat. Into the pocket, she slipped one novel – a gift from Father. Forgotten in that pocket was a government pamphlet, one she received during her evacuation – Information on Bed-wetting for Householders Taking Unaccompanied Children. She considered saving it, then tossed it into the bin instead.

  Aunt Bess sat in the kitchen, smoking, when they emerged. Eliza helped Rebecca carry her luggage to the door, where Mr Drewry waited. Rebecca had become vacant, the way she often did after a fit, and made no protest when Mr Drewry took her arm. Before Eliza could wrench her sister from him, Aunt Bess called from the table. Eliza would not look at her.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say goodbye?’ Aunt Bess asked.

  Eliza picked up both suitcases and motioned for Mr Drewry to exit the flat.

  ‘No.’ She closed the door calmly as she left. Mrs Hodgkins was carrying a bin bag downstairs.

  ‘Going on a trip, love?’

  Eliza ignored her.

  Outside, a cab waited for them. Mr Drewry opened the taxi door and climbed inside with Rebecca. Eliza followed with the suitcases. Their escort sat close to the driver while the girls settled in across from him. A layer of grime coated the floor, and the thin seats had little cushioning left. A spring jabbed into Eliza’s upper thigh. She tucked in her legs and arms, attempting to touch as little of the filthy car as possible. As the cab drove off, Eliza saw a tall, skeletal man enter their building – Mr Mosley.

  ‘May it be an unhappy union,’ she muttered, and looked away.

  With Rebecca leaning against her, Eliza stared out of the window as the cab made its way through the streets. She watched the buses and pedestrians, admired the old Victorian homes now pockmarked from bomb blasts and glanced down narrow side streets where spivs stood selling their wares. She watched the damp pavements speeding alongside her, empty of queues now the shops had shut.

  Eliza watched it all as the cab took them further away from home. She was still here yet missing it already. She did her best not to think about Peter. As soon as she could, she would write to him. Rebecca kept silent. She wasn’t counting, at least not aloud. It was the best Eliza could hope for. Mr Drewry also remained mute, staring out of his window for the duration of the ride. If he was familiar with London, Eliza couldn’t tell. He expressed neither the interest of someone visiting the city for the first time nor the apathy of someone who’d seen it all before.

  The cab stopped outside Paddington Station. Mr Drewry paid the driver then led Rebecca out, leaving Eliza with the suitcases. When Peter went on holiday, would he leave from here, she wondered as she followed Mr Drewry and Rebecca inside. Would Peter think of her as he travelled alone, or would there be another girl at his side?

  She followed Mr Drewry to Platform 4, where a train awaited them underneath the high, vaulted arches. The ticket collector directed them to a first-class carriage, for which Eliza was grateful. Returning to London after the war, she and the other children were packed in the coach compartments so tight there was no room for anyone to sit. A little boy had vomited on her only pair of shoes.

  Mr Drewry chose an empty compartment and slid the door shut behind them. Only then did he help Eliza with the luggage. Together, they lifted the pieces onto the racks above their heads, his solitary arm proving remarkably strong. Once finished, he sat across from the sisters and went back to staring out of the window. Eliza could no longer bear the silence.

  ‘My name is Eliza. This is Rebecca.’

  She waited. He said nothing.

  ‘What part of Wales are we going to?’

  No answer.

  ‘Could you at least tell us how long the journey will take?’

  ‘Seven hours, fourteen minutes,’ he replied. Eliza expected his voice to be soft, lilting and Welsh. Instead, it was hard and English. Possibly Northern, though it was difficult to tell since he spoke so little. She thanked him then leant Rebecca against her shoulder and began her silent goodbyes to home.

  *

  It did not take long for the city to disappear. Eliza watched as the lights faded away into fog. Once they were rolling through darkened fields, she felt Rebecca’s heart beat faster.

  ‘Better than last time we left, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Don’t have to worry about bombs falling on us before we get there. And no awful luggage labels on our coats, either.’

  Despite Eliza’s words, Rebecca remained tense and unresponsive.

  Now three hours had passed since the train left. Eliza thought Mr Drewry would fall asleep, maybe pull his hat down to block out the carriage lights, like Father used to do on long journeys, but Mr Drewry did nothing. Every once in a while he’d smoke a cigarette but that was all. He didn’t appear to mind Eliza and Rebecca talking, however.

  ‘Why don’t you read to me?’ Eliza asked when, for lack of something to do, Rebecca began kicking the underside of her seat. She pulled the tattered copy of Mrs Miniver from her handbag and gave it to her sister.

  ‘Where should I start?’

  ‘Oh, why not the beginning?’ Eliza replied, closing her eyes. ‘We have plenty of time.’ She heard Rebecca open the book and fold back the pages.

  ‘“For my girls. No day is complete without a story. With love, Father.”’

  Eliza smiled. Rebecca turned the page.

  ‘Eliza, does Aunt Bess hate us?’

  ‘Hate is a very strong word. I think maybe she grew tired of us.’

  ‘Do you hate her?’

  Eliza sighed and opened her eyes. ‘Right now, I’m very cross with her. But I don’t know if I’ve ever hated anyone.’

  ‘You hate Hitler.’

  ‘Well, that’s true.’

  ‘For what he did to Mother.’

  ‘For what he did to lots of people. Now go on and read. I can’t remember how it starts.’

  Rebecca began the opening chapter but stopped after the first paragraph.

  ‘I hate Aunt Bess,’ she said.

  ‘You’re too young to know if you hate anyone.’

  ‘No I’m not. And I do, I hate her. I hate her and I’m not sorry for hitting her.’

  ‘Well, if you’re not sorry now then you will be,’ Eliza said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’ll realise it was wrong. Are you going to keep reading or shall I do it myself?’

  Rebecca continued then stopped when she reached the end of the page.

  ‘Liza?’

  ‘Yes, dearie?’

  ‘Will you grow tired of me?’

  Eliza wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders. ‘I can’t. It’s against the law for sisters to grow tired of each other.’

  ‘It is not.’

  ‘Is too. Mr Attlee passed it through parliament just the other day.’

  ‘You’re fibbing,’ Rebecca giggled.

  ‘Am not. The king asked for it. The princesses had an argument and he wanted to make sure that – no matter what – they would always remain friends.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘Saw it in the papers.’

/>   ‘Well, I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Well, I think you should keep reading.’

  They shared a smile and Rebecca returned her attention to the book, reciting page after page as the train continued forward through the fog.

  *

  Eliza rummaged through her purse. All she had was £2 12s 8d. Pay day would never come after all.

  ‘I’m hungry, Eliza.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We didn’t get dinner.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I haven’t had anything to eat for ages!’

  ‘Hush!’

  Mr Drewry appeared to have fallen asleep, and Eliza was afraid of waking him. Slowly, she rose, pressing her finger to her lips to keep Rebecca quiet. Her hand was on the carriage door when a train thundered past in the opposite direction. Mr Drewry shot up in his seat, using the stump of his missing arm to search for something at his side. When he couldn’t reach, he looked at the missing limb as if seeing it for the first time. The panic only lasted a moment, already dissipating when he saw Eliza at the door.

  ‘Would it be all right if we went to the dining car?’ Eliza asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice they had already been leaving. Mr Drewry glanced at the floor then at the window, touching his hand to the glass.

  ‘Mr Drewry?’

  ‘Suit yourselves,’ he said, keeping his gaze on the window.

  Eliza thanked him then exited the compartment with Rebecca. They had just passed the five-hour mark of their journey and Eliza’s legs were cramping, her back stiff. A headache was brewing and her stomach sent hunger pains up into her chest as her dry eyes itched. She wanted a bed – a double, no a king – where she and Rebecca could both stretch out and fall asleep and not wake for a very long time.

  Instead, she stood in the dining car, Rebecca clinging to her arm for support as she pleaded with a waiter.

  ‘Please, sir. We didn’t realise what time the kitchen closed. We’ll take anything you have. It can be cold. I do have money. We’ll pay for anything. Please. My poor little sister is famished.’

  As they spoke, the train pulled into a station. Swansea, read the sign. On the platform was a telegram office.

  ‘How long will our stop be?’ Eliza asked.