Chapter 7
‘What did you think to the play?’ Nancy asked.
‘All right,’ Marie said, suppressing a yawn and longing for the end of her shift so that she could collapse into bed.
‘Only all right? I thought it was real good. So did George.’
‘George? I wouldn’t have thought he was the play-going type.’
‘He’s not really, but a couple of the actors are lodging at my mother’s, and they said it’s the best production they’ve ever been in, so I got him to take me. Thank goodness we didn’t have an air raid to ruin it for us.’
‘How much does she charge them – the actors?’ asked Marie. ‘If I have to leave work to look after my mother, taking a couple of lodgers might help with the housekeeping.’
‘Never asked,’ Nancy shrugged, ‘and Mam wouldn’t tell me anyway. But actors are ideal, she says. They never stay too long. One of them’s gorgeous, though. He’s been offered a job in the films.’ Nancy tilted her head back and gave a self-conscious, tinkling little laugh. ‘He says the only thing stopping him from taking it is he’d never see me again.’
‘He’s got it bad, then,’ Marie said sardonically.
Nancy looked ecstatic. ‘He has,’ she replied, oblivious to the sarcasm. ‘He says he’ll only take the job if I promise to move down south with him.’
‘You’re not serious?’ Marie said, suddenly wide awake.
‘I’m thinking about it.’
‘You’re telling me you’re going to chuck a man like George – who you’re engaged to, by the way – for a slick-talking fly-by-night you’ve known about half an hour? Yes, Nancy, if I were in your shoes I’d certainly think about that, long and hard. I’d think about it until I’d thought myself back into some sense. George is a good lad. He’s a qualified engineer, and he’s dead keen on his job. He’s got good prospects, Nance.’
‘Well, you’re not in my shoes, and prospects don’t set anyone’s pulses racing.’
‘And the actor chap does, I suppose?’
‘Yes, he does! And how do you know Monty hasn’t got good prospects?’
‘Monty!’
Nancy blushed. ‘Yes, Monty. His real name’s Montgomery Holmes.’
‘I bet that’s not his real name, Nance. Don’t let him kid you.’
‘It’s his professional name, then. And it’s a very good name for a film star, if you ask me. And he’s good company. He took me to a restaurant on my day off, treated me like a queen. He thinks I ought to have drama lessons. He says Hull’s got the best-looking women in England, and I’m the best-looking woman in Hull. He says I’m pretty enough to be in the films.’
‘He’s got a hell of a lot to say, by the sound of it. What’s he after – or has he already got it?’
Nancy tossed her head, very miffed. ‘What a rotten thing to say! He’s not after anything – and he hasn’t got anything, either. Can’t anybody pay anybody a compliment, without being after something? You’re in a nasty mood today, Marie.’
‘No, I’m not. You’re talking about doing the dirty on George, and I’m being honest, telling you it’s ten to one you’ll regret it if you do. I can’t help it if you don’t like the truth.’
‘I could tell you some truths, if I wanted to, that you wouldn’t like,’ Nancy flared. ‘Are you sure you know Charles as well as you think? There might be a lot about him that you don’t know.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You don’t say something like that, and then say “nothing”. What are you talking about? What is it about Charles I don’t know?’
‘Nothing, I said. But maybe none of us knows what’s round the corner, until it falls on top of us. Or what we might do when we’re put to it.’
‘I don’t know you as well as I thought I did,’ said Marie, ‘but I know this, Nance. You’re a lot too deep for me.’
Nancy abruptly turned her back and flounced off down the ward.
What was she talking about? Marie watched her go, liking her no better for her treachery to George, and determined to get to the bottom of that last comment as soon as she got the opportunity. Her thoughts flashed back to George on the night he’d taken his mother to the shelter, how happy he’d been to tell her about their engagement, the poor fool. And here was Nancy, shamelessly talking about going off with some poncy actor.
‘Montgomery what?’ she muttered to the patient, who was too ill to care. ‘I don’t remember seeing that name on the playbill. And what’s the use of plays anyhow, when there’s more drama going on around us than they could show on a stage in a million years?’
Nancy was soon coming down the ward again, making directly for her. Marie gave her a disapproving look, but Nancy didn’t respond in kind.
‘Sister sent me to tell you there’s someone in the office wants to speak to you,’ she said, her voice subdued, then added: ‘Marie, it’s the police.’
Marie flew the length of the ward, moving as fast as she could without actually running. Sister answered her knock on the office door.
‘Come in and sit down, Nurse Larsen, I’ll leave you alone for a minute.’
A burly policeman stood up as she entered. ‘Sit down, lass.’
Marie sat, and waited.
He took an identity disc out of his pocket and placed it on the desk in front of her. ‘Do you recognize that?’
It was what her dad had called his dead meat disc, a leftover from the Great War. She picked it up. ‘You’ve found him, then.’
He nodded. ‘The rescue services have. We went to your house. One of the neighbours said you’d be here.’
‘Dead, I suppose?’ she said, tears suddenly welling into her eyes.
He nodded. ‘I’m sorry, lass.’
Marie was silent for a few moments. Nothing else could have kept him from her mother’s side. She’d known from the outset that it must be so but still, a little flame of hope had burned deep within her, until this moment. ‘I had an idea,’ she said. ‘As soon as I saw my mother without him, I knew he’d be dead. It’s a relief to know for sure, all the same. At least we can stop worrying about him lying injured somewhere. He was in that Ellis Street shelter then?’
The policeman nodded. ‘His remains are at Albert Avenue Baths, badly mangled, I’m afraid, but enough to identify. Somebody will have to go and do that, and get a death certificate. Then see the undertakers. You should go through his papers. If he was in a Friendly Society you might get help towards the cost of the funeral . . .’
The advice went on. Marie was back on the ward as soon as he’d gone. She found Sister helping Nancy to put a patient back into bed. They finished the task, and then Sister took her aside.
‘Are you all right?’
‘They’ve found my dad’s body,’ Marie said.
‘I’m sorry, Nurse. I’d let you go now, but we’re so short-staffed.’
Nancy was hovering nearby. Sister gave her a look, warning her off.
‘It’s all right,’ Marie said. ‘Nancy and I have known each other for years. The news is a shock, but I’ve been expecting it to come. Going off duty won’t make it any better. In fact, I’ll be better working; I don’t want to think about it too much just now.’
Sister gave Marie’s hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Take Nurse into the kitchen, and make her a cup of tea,’ she told Nancy. ‘It’s not much, but at least we can do that for her.’
Nancy put a comforting arm round her, to lead her away.
Marie had been steeled against everything but sympathy. She shook her head. ‘I’ll be better working. Deep down, I’ve known ever since he went missing that he was . . .’ Sudden tears blurred her deep blue eyes and glistened on the pale lashes beneath. A painful lump rose to her throat making it hard to get the words out. ‘. . . that he was dead,’ she managed to say. Then, struggling hard to regain her composure, she added, ‘But tomorrow I’ll have to go and tell my mother the bad news, and see the funeral director, and send invitations t
o all the relatives, and let the war pension people know, and . . .’
‘Isn’t there anybody but you to do any of these things?’ Sister asked, her eyes full of sympathy.
‘No.’
‘Then we’ll have to manage without you. I’ll change the duty rota. Somebody else will have to work your shift.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Nancy volunteered. ‘It was my day off tomorrow, but Nurse Larsen can have it.’
‘Thanks, Nancy, you’re a pal,’ Marie said, her eyes filling with tears of gratitude. A friend in need is a friend indeed, as the old saying went, and whatever was happening between her and George, Nancy had been a good friend since the day they’d first started nursing.
Chapter 8
‘Marjorie’s gone to do her bit for the WVS. There’s only me in the house, and I’ll have to get back to the shop soon,’ Mr Elsworth said, putting a cup of watery tea on the kitchen table in front of Marie. ‘It should be all right; it hasn’t been made all that long. Unfortunately, there’s no milk or sugar, thanks to Danny. He hasn’t quite got the hang of rationing yet, but we live in hope. If you’d come any earlier I’d still have been out. I’ve only just got back from the police courts.’
‘What happened?’
‘Fined thirty shillings, and licence endorsed. I haven’t paid it yet. My God, Jerry has made a mess of the city centre.’
‘Pity they didn’t drop one of their incendiaries on the police courts and send all the records up in smoke,’ she said. ‘You’d be thirty bob better off.’
He smiled. ‘I could almost like them if they’d done that. But they’ve a nasty habit of dropping them in the wrong places.’
‘Like on top of people huddled in air-raid shelters. Dad is dead. It’s official. A policeman came yesterday to tell me he’s been found and give me his identity disc. I was rooting all over the house last night to find the papers for the funeral club he’s paid into for years, and I had to go and identify him at the mortuary this morning.’
Mr Elsworth looked aghast. ‘You mean you went on your own? You shouldn’t have done that. I’d have gone with you, or Marjorie.’
‘I wish Charles were here. I wouldn’t have minded having him beside me.’
‘I think Charles told you he’d deputized us to look after you while he was away.’
‘He did, but I can’t pester you with my troubles; you’ve got your repair shop to run, as well as everything else. So I just got on with it. Anyway, you couldn’t have helped, you had your court case, remember? I’ve been to see the undertaker, as well. “We can squeeze you in on Friday,” he said. “Two o’clock. If not, it’ll have to be next week.” So I decided to let them squeeze Dad in on Friday. I’ve written to most of our relatives, and if they can’t come, it’s a bad job, but the sooner it’s all over the better, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘I’m sorry, Marie.’
‘You sometimes hear people say: “Oh, they looked real peaceful,” after somebody’s died. My dad didn’t look peaceful. He looked absolutely terrible, as if he died in agony. It was awful.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. My views on the glories of war are well known, so I’ll say no more, except – please accept my condolences, and if I can do anything to help, you only have to ask. I just wish I could have given you a better cup of tea; that would have been more use.’
‘This’ll do. At least it’s warm and wet. I’d like you to come to the funeral, if you will.’
‘I will, but if the invitation includes Marjorie, I can tell you she’ll refuse. I’ve never yet been able to persuade her to set foot in a Catholic church.’
‘Just you, then. My mother doesn’t even know he’s been found yet. Charles said you wouldn’t mind driving me up to the hospital.’
‘Of course not. I’ll get my coat.’
‘There’s another thing, Mr Elsworth,’ Marie said, encouraged by his offer of help. ‘I sent Pam a letter with a postal order for the fares for her and Alfie, and then I remembered the people she’s with have a telephone. I wonder if you’d mind if I rang them from here? Only I don’t know the number.’
‘If you have their name and address you’ll get them all right, as long as the lines aren’t damaged. But won’t Pam be at school?’
‘Yes, I suppose she will. Well, I’ll see my mother first, and come back this evening to talk to Pam, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’
Her mother’s bloodshot eyes peered out from under the bandages. ‘Who is it?’ she croaked. ‘Marie. Oh, my bairn, I am glad to see you. Where’s your dad?’ Her voice was slow and it seemed an effort for her to force the words out.
Marie’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Oh, Mam, Dad’s dead! He died in the shelter.’
‘I can’t hear you; I can’t tell what you’re saying. My ears ache real bad, Marie, and my head’s bursting.’
Marie sank down on the chair beside the bed, feeling utterly helpless. That her mother, a vigorous, capable woman, should be reduced to this. What harm had she ever done? None, and yet her life had been deliberately destroyed. Marie held her mother’s hand and, raising her voice as much as she could, she said: ‘The police came yesterday, Mam. To tell me Dad’s body’s been found. I’ve sent a letter to our Pam and Alfie, and I’m going to ring our Pam this afternoon. I’ve arranged his funeral for Friday.’
Her mother’s face was a picture of fear and bewilderment. ‘What? What?’ she asked, in a quavering voice. ‘A funeral? Your dad?’
‘You were right then, he is dead.’ Pam’s voice sounded flat when Marie telephoned her from the Elsworths’ that evening.
‘No doubt about it, I’m sorry to tell you. There’s no chance our mam will be able to go to the funeral, either. She can’t even get out of bed. Her head still aches and the explosion was so near it’s nearly deafened her. It took me ages to make her understand what’s happened. I sent you a letter today, with a postal order in it. I want you to cash it and use the money for the fares for you and Alfie, and maybe a bite to eat on the way. You can show him the letter. It’s Monday today, and the funeral’s on Friday, so you’ll have to be here by Thursday at the latest. Better come on Wednesday to be on the safe side.’
‘I don’t want to come,’ Pam said. ‘I’m not coming. Hull’s too dangerous. That’s why Mum and Dad sent us away.’
‘Don’t you think you should be at your own father’s funeral, Pam?’
‘What’s the use? He won’t know whether anyone’s there or not, and neither will Mum, if she’s not going – unless you tell her. Anyway, he wouldn’t want me to. I know he wouldn’t want me to be anywhere so dangerous.’
‘Mam would like to see you.’
‘She’s too ill for anything, and she can’t hear. You just said.’
‘Alfie does want to come, Pam.’
‘Then I’ll give him the postal order, and he can come on his own.’
‘He’s too young.’
‘No he’s not. All he has to do is get the bus to Lincoln, and then to New Holland, and then get the ferry over, and he’s there.’
‘You think he can do that? Sort his fares out, and get the connections? He’s only eleven. I can’t believe how selfish you’re being, Pam.’
There was no response to that. Marie hesitated, wondering if she dare allow Alfie to travel on his own. ‘All right, then, Pam. Cash the postal order, pay Alfie’s fare to Lincoln, and see him onto the bus. He’ll have to come on his own if you won’t bring him. Is Mrs Stewart there?’
‘No, but Uncle Alec is.’
‘He’s not your uncle, Pam. Your uncles live in Hull.’
‘He’s better than a lot of uncles. None of the ones in Hull would do half as much for me as he does.’
‘I’ll have a word with him, please.’
‘It won’t make any difference. He won’t make me come.’
‘Just get him, will you?’
No doubt he wouldn’t make her come, Marie thought, while she waited for him. Pamela seemed to be able to twist ‘Uncle’ Alec r
ound her little finger.
When he answered Marie explained the situation again, and got a promise from him that either he or Pamela would personally see Alfie onto the bus on Wednesday, and pay his fare with the money from the postal order, and give him the rest for the fare to New Holland and the ferry to Hull. If Pamela wasn’t coming, Alfie could bring the balance of the money back with him. Marie banged the receiver down. Pam would not be keeping the rest of that money, even if she thought she might.
She went into the sitting room, and found Mrs Elsworth on the settee with her feet up, still in her immaculately pressed green uniform, apart from the matching hat, which sat on the sideboard proclaiming ‘WVS’ in embroidered letters.
‘You might have gathered that Pam’s not coming, but Alfie specifically told me he wanted to be at Dad’s funeral. But letting a hare-brained 11-year-old come all that way on his own . . .’ Marie paused, then said: ‘I wonder if I’ve done the right thing? I’ve a good mind to ring again and tell them not to send him. But he really wants to come.’
‘He’ll be all right,’ said Danny, his eyes shining. ‘It’ll be an adventure, coming on his own. I wish it was me.’
‘“Were me”, Danny,’ Mrs Elsworth corrected him. ‘“I wish it were me.” ’
‘Let him come,’ Mr Elsworth said. ‘Most lads are cap able of a lot more than you imagine, when they’re really up against it. But I’ll go and fetch him myself, if you’re so concerned.’
‘What about your petrol ration?’
‘I’ll go by train, or bus.’
‘But if you didn’t get there and back in the day, you’d have to find somewhere to stay for the night,’ said Marie. ‘I’d go myself, but we’re not exactly overstaffed and I’m not flush with money. I couldn’t get the time off even if I were. Injured people can’t look after themselves. Anyway, I don’t want to put you to any more trouble or expense. You’ve run round enough as it is.’
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