Edie's Home for Orphans

by Gracie Taylor

  ‘That’s why Davy can’t read.’

  ‘Yes. He worships Fred though.’ She sighed. ‘He won’t half get a whipping when his dad finds out he’s been sacked.’

  ‘Davy certainly seems to have picked up some views about foreigners from him.’

  ‘Poor Luca. He’d never fight anyone if he had the choice; he’s ever so soft-hearted. Was he badly hurt?’

  ‘Just a black eye,’ Edie said. ‘After what happened to his brother, you can understand why Davy lashed out. Do you think Luca could talk Sam into giving him his job back?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  The footpath they were following widened, leading to a packhorse bridge that crossed a little chattering beck.

  ‘Or maybe you could have a word,’ Edie said, studying her friend’s face. ‘You know Sam well, don’t you?’

  Tilly looked like she was only half paying attention, absently turning the strange silver ring she always wore around her finger as she walked. ‘I doubt he’d listen to me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He never does,’ Tilly said with a half-smile. She appeared to rouse herself. ‘But I might pay a call on him. I do need to thank him for the chicken. The stock ought to keep us in soups and stews for a few days.’

  ‘You can call on him when you pick up the rabbit.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The rabbit. Wasn’t that what the note you asked me to pass on was about?’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’

  Edie had been watching her carefully, trying to detect anything that would give weight to the idea she’d been pondering. She felt it would be a liberty to ask Tilly directly if she was right. They were still very new acquaintances, after all, although in some ways it felt like they’d known each other for years. And if her friend had lied, she must have a reason for doing so.

  Instead, Edie turned the conversation to the party at the WLA hostel that evening.

  ‘Is there anywhere in the village I could buy a lipstick?’ she asked. ‘I only brought one colour, and it won’t go at all with the blue silk I was planning to wear.’

  Tilly laughed. ‘This isn’t London, Edie. If you need to buy a ball of string or a quarter of acid drops or a tin of mustard powder, Applefield’s the place to go. Anything more exotic and you’d need to make a journey into town.’ She squeezed her arm. ‘But never mind about that, I’ve got plenty of everything you can borrow.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course. And mind, you must let me make you all pretty before you go out. It’s the nearest to fun I’m likely to get for a little while. Is it only girls?’

  ‘Vinnie said there’d be some boys from the RAF base.’

  Edie watched Tilly’s expression, but there was no sign this information brought back unhappy memories of her own experience.

  ‘Then we’d better make sure you’re the belle of the ball, hadn’t we?’ she said. ‘Who knows but that there might not be a future Mr Edie Cartwright there tonight.’

  Edie flushed. ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Well, and why not? You want to get married, don’t you?’

  ‘War’s no time to be thinking about that.’

  ‘Of course it is. There’s nothing like an uncertain future to turn the mind to thoughts of love. Eat, drink and be merry, Edie, my dear, for tomorrow we die.’ Tilly rubbed her stomach, wincing as the baby gave her a kick. ‘But I’m the last person you should let talk philosophy to you. Look at the pickle that sort of thinking got me into.’

  When they reached Applefield’s main street, Edie started to see exactly what Tilly had meant about the pervading atmosphere of judgement and suspicion. Her friend had a cheerful greeting for everyone they met, and while some of the villagers responded in kind, just as many gave only a curt nod, or cut her dead. Some even crossed the road to avoid her, pulling their children close as if worrying unwed motherhood might be infectious.

  Edie noticed a few suspicious looks in her direction too. She wasn’t certain if she was attracting them because she was a newcomer, because she was evidently a bosom pal of the village’s official fallen woman, or a bit of both.

  ‘Sorry,’ Tilly whispered. ‘I hope I’m not ruining your reputation by association.’

  ‘They can’t intimidate me,’ Edie whispered back. ‘I’ve faced the Luftwaffe.’

  ‘Oh, the Luftwaffe have got nothing on Applefield.’ Tilly gestured along the main street. ‘Well, Edie, welcome to hell. There’s the village shop, purveyor of anything and everything: butter, kippers, Oxo cubes, soap flakes – whatever you like as long as it’s solid and boring. The Golden Fleece pub, Braithwaite the butcher, Jowett’s greengrocer’s, post office, tobacconist’s, village institute, and a little further up is St Mark’s Church. And that’s it. We’re the very definition of what in the Westerns they call a one-horse town.’

  ‘It’s very pretty,’ Edie said, casting an appreciative eye over the pink sandstone cottages, the whitewashed pub and the village green, where old men were enjoying a game of bowls.

  Applefield seemed to Edie to be the epitome of a snug, civilised country village: a real slice of old England. This was somewhere the pace of life had remained the same for centuries; such a contrast with the grime and bustle of London.

  She inhaled deeply. Dr Grant had been right: she could feel the fresh air doing her good as it filled her body.

  Tilly scoffed. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d been born here. I’m convinced there’s no duller place in the world. I think some of us younger folk were almost glad the war came along to shake things up a little.’ She caught the look on Edie’s face. ‘Oh, now, you know I’m only joking. Come on, we’ll join the queue for Jowett’s. If you see an onion, grab it before anyone else gets their hands on it.’

  But there were no onions, as there hadn’t been anywhere for months, so they came away with five pounds of potatoes, a cabbage and a few beetroots, with their other needs supplied by Applefield Manor’s gardens. In the village shop they bought tea, sugar, flour and other necessities, then they visited the butcher’s.

  ‘I can’t give you a joint so it’s no good asking,’ the brawny, sallow-faced man behind the counter told them gruffly when, after half an hour, they reached the front of the queue.

  ‘What can you give us?’ Tilly asked. ‘Anything off the ration? I’d love a couple of sausages if you’ve got any under the counter.’

  ‘No sausages, no kidneys, no rabbit. I’ve liver, oxtail and tongue not on coupons, plus braising steak and a few chops if you’ve got the coupons for ’em.’

  ‘Lamb chops?’ Edie asked.

  ‘Pork.’

  ‘Oh. Good.’ She lowered her voice to talk to Tilly. ‘I’m not so keen on lamb all of a sudden.’

  ‘That’s fine, thank you, Fred,’ Tilly said. ‘We’ll take a pound of liver, an oxtail and six chops, and you can make up the rest in corned beef.’ She nodded to Edie. ‘We’ve got coupons for four of us now.’

  ‘Aye, I heard. Up at Nicholson’s with our lad, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes,’ Edie said, even though the question hadn’t been addressed to her. It didn’t seem as though Davy had been home yet to tell his father what had happened that morning. ‘Davy’s a fine young man. You ought to be very proud of him, Mr Braithwaite.’

  ‘Huh. Wouldn’t know about that. The boy’s half simple if you ask me.’ He wiped his hands on his bloody apron and weighed out the meat. ‘Five and tenpence for that lot.’

  Tilly cast a glum look at the meagre amount of meat on the chops as Fred took them from the scales.

  ‘Not a lot between us, is it?’ she said in an undertone to Edie. ‘Goodness knows how we’ll manage when they cut the ration to a bob each next week. I swear, if I eat a single carrot more I’ll turn into one. Thank heavens for Sam’s giblets.’

  But Edie wasn’t thinking about the recent announcement of yet another cut to the meat ration. She was watching Fred Braithwaite’s beefy, calloused hands as he wrapped their order, hoping Tilly had been
wrong when she’d said Davy would have a beating waiting for him.

  Fred turned to spit over his shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t work for that dirty bastard Nicholson for any money. Thinks more of those pet Eyeties of his than he does of honest English folk. The whole thing stinks like that bloody garlic they’re always eating.’

  ‘Just the chops, please, Fred,’ Tilly said calmly. ‘We don’t have the coupons for opinions.’

  Fred snorted. ‘Surprised you’ve got a good word to say for him. He’s done you no favours.’ He put the parcel of meat on the counter and leered at her over it. ‘But perhaps you like it that way, eh, love?’

  ‘I did say just the chops,’ she repeated firmly, handing over their four ration books and a ten-shilling note. ‘I wouldn’t like to have to register us elsewhere, Geordie being such an old friend.’

  With a grunt he stamped their books and handed them back with the change.

  At the door, Tilly stopped and turned back.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about Geordie,’ she said in a softer voice.

  Fred’s face was a hard, knotty mass of anger and hurt.

  ‘That’s the problem with this war,’ he muttered. ‘It took the wrong bloody son.’

  ‘Well?’ Tilly said when they were outside. ‘What do you think?’

  Edie shook her head in disgust. ‘That’s the father Davy idolises? Whatever for? He’s a pig!’

  ‘Because that was all he had, all he ever knew,’ Tilly said quietly.

  ‘Simple! The boy’s as bright as a button,’ Edie snapped, every maternal hackle raised on Davy’s behalf. ‘If he can’t read, whose fault is that?’

  ‘Fred always favoured Geordie, and he made sure he reminded Davy of it every chance he got. All Davy ever wanted was to impress him.’

  ‘That’s why he’s so desperate to get into the army?’

  ‘Yes, like his brother. You should have seen Fred bursting with pride when Geordie was home on leave in his uniform.’ She sighed. ‘It’ll only get worse for Davy now.’

  They walked on in sober silence.

  All her life Edie had felt alone; the outsider. She hadn’t had what her friend Susan had had: a cosy home, two loving parents and a brother who thought the world of her. Just an aunt whose affections were lukewarm at best, and a house she lived in as a charity child. She supposed that was why she’d always felt a kinship with the stray animals she used to see on the streets of London, and the children in her class who were orphans like her.

  What Edie hadn’t realised was how many others were alone in their own ways. Tilly Liddell, rejected by her family and sneered at by her community for one mistake that had cost her her reputation. Prudence Hewitt, beaten and neglected by her mother, rejected by the upper-class family she married into as not of their breed. Jack Graham, still tortured by visions of the young men he’d watched die. Davy Braithwaite, bullied by a domineering father who’d filled his child with hate. Luca and Marco, aliens in a land where they were regarded with fear and suspicion. And Sam Nicholson … Edie didn’t know what his story was, but she could tell he was another such lost cause, as Tilly called them. She hadn’t realised, until she came to Applefield, just how many of them were around.

  The whole village had a flavour of loneliness, now she opened her eyes. Edie had thought Applefield seemed the perfect country village, but when you delved below the surface, the place thrummed with hostility and fear. Too many people seemed keen to stay away from their neighbours, avoiding eye contact as if they were strangers. In London, the war had brought people together; communities, facing nightly attacks on their homes and lives, were knit more tightly than they ever had been. But here … no wonder people were so ready to believe their fellow villagers might be spies and collaborators, when they scarcely spoke to them.

  ‘The treat days you used to have, what were they like?’ she asked Tilly.

  Tilly’s eyes clouded with nostalgia. ‘Oh, they were wonderful fun. Old Mr Hewitt, Prue’s father-in-law – he was an awful toffee-nose but he knew how to throw a party. It all happened in the gardens at Applefield Manor. We used to have swingboats and games: hoop-tossing, lucky dip, coconut shy and so on. The adults ate cake and drank beer, and us children were allowed to eat sweet things until we made ourselves sick. Other than Christmas, it was my favourite day of the year.’

  ‘Didn’t Prue and Albert want to keep it going?’

  ‘I don’t think it was that. The treats just changed, somehow. The atmosphere changed.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps the problem was that Prue’s heart wasn’t in it. She never really forgave the village for its attitude to her marriage.’

  ‘Might she consider bringing it back? I think it would be a first-class way to bring people together. It could raise money for the Spitfire Fund.’

  ‘Well, it’ll be a braver person than me who asks her.’ Tilly groaned as she spotted a couple approaching them from the church. ‘Oh Lord. It’s my aunt and uncle.’

  ‘Shall we cross the road?’

  ‘No.’ Tilly drew herself up. ‘Let her cross if she doesn’t want to see me. This is my home too.’

  She lifted her chin as Patricia and Andrew – Patricia in her bottle-green WVS uniform, her husband in his clerical shirt and dog collar – strolled towards them.

  ‘Good afternoon, Aunt,’ she said when they met. ‘And Uncle Andrew. I hope the day finds you both well.’

  Patricia managed to ignore Tilly’s greeting completely – quite an achievement when its deliverer was standing less than a yard from her nose. She turned away and pretended to be examining a little patch of daffodils by the churchyard wall. Her husband, however, removed his hat and smiled.

  ‘Good afternoon, Matilda,’ he said. ‘We’re doing well, thank you, very well indeed. And yourself?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. The baby’s started to kick quite often now though, which keeps me awake at night.’ She laughed. ‘I think there might be a future can-can dancer joining the family.’

  Patricia looked appalled that Tilly had dared refer to her condition so openly. Even Andrew looked a little embarrassed, but he bore up manfully.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear the Lord has blessed you with a healthy child,’ he said.

  Patricia scoffed. ‘Blessed,’ Edie heard her mutter. ‘There’s a joke.’

  Ignoring Tilly completely, she turned her attention to Edie.

  ‘Good afternoon, Edith,’ she said with exaggerated politeness, as if to make a distinction between her and her niece. ‘I hope work at the farm hasn’t been too much for you in your first week there?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. I mean, yes, it hasn’t been too much for me. Or, no.’ Edie grimaced. ‘That is to say, I’m enjoying it.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Do give Prudence my regards, and remind her I’ll be there tomorrow with Agnes and James.’

  Once again acting as though Tilly were invisible, Patricia hooked her arm through Andrew’s and swept past without a word.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Edie whispered, squeezing Tilly’s arm.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me, I’m used to her. To be honest, I enjoy seeing how red I can make her ears turn when we bump into each other.’

  Their shopping completed, the girls carried on in the direction of Applefield Manor. They’d been walking for less than a minute when Tilly’s Uncle Andrew came jogging up behind them.

  ‘Matilda,’ he panted. ‘Before you go home.’ He pressed a ten-shilling note into her hand. ‘Take this. From your aunt and me.’

  Tilly shook her head. ‘Uncle, you don’t need to do that. I have my wages.’

  ‘Please, take this as a little extra. Buy something for the baby, a present from me. I mean, from us, of course.’ He glanced warily over his shoulder. ‘I’d better go back. I told your aunt I would wait for her outside Mr Braithwaite’s. I’ll see you in church tomorrow, young ladies.’

  Tilly smiled as she put the note away in her purse.

  ‘He’s a sweetheart, Uncle Andrew,’ she told Ed
ie. ‘He often slips me a few bob when she isn’t looking. She knows nothing about it, of course, although he always claims it’s a gift from the pair of them. I sometimes wonder why he married her, unless it was because she was prime vicar’s-wife material.’

  ‘They don’t seem very well matched.’

  ‘No. It’s a funny thing really. He’s only an uncle by marriage, and a man of God too: he’d be within his rights to want nothing more to do with me. Instead it’s the blood relation who casts me off and the Reverend Uncle Andrew is the only family member I’ve got who still admits to being kin to me.’

  ‘One decent relative is better than none, I suppose. It’s a shame he can’t preach a sermon or two about Christian charity to his wife.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Tilly shook her head. ‘Evacuees at Applefield Manor, can you believe it? I’m amazed Aunt got Prue to agree.’

  ‘I don’t think she left her a choice,’ Edie said. ‘I wonder what they’ll be like. How old, and where they lived before.’

  ‘I hope they’re small ones. I could do with some practice before … well, you know.’

  ‘Oh, there’s nothing to it,’ Edie said, smiling. ‘Children are just like small, drunk men. Trust me, I’m a schoolteacher.’

  Tilly laughed. ‘Are you? That explains a lot.’ She squeezed Edie’s arm. ‘Let’s go home. We have to get you ready for a party.’

  Chapter 15

  When the girls arrived back at Applefield Manor, Tilly set about her task with a relish, dragging Edie into her bedroom as soon as the shopping had been put away.

  ‘You really don’t have to do this.’ Edie was anxious enough about the dance as it was without having her scrawny, curveless little body dolled up in a way she knew couldn’t possibly suit her. ‘Don’t you have to cook dinner for Prue and Jack?’

  But Tilly wasn’t to be put off.

  ‘Don’t worry, I made a steak and potato pie this morning. It only needs heating through.’ She held Edie at arm’s length. ‘Hmm. Did you say you were planning to wear a blue silk?’