by Lizzie Lane
‘Ray, it’s just me and Lily here. Things are difficult enough as it is, but at least I am making sure you have a lovely home to come back to. It could be very different, you know. You do know there are looters, don’t you? Imagine them breaking in here when there’s a raid going on and taking all my lovely things.’
She also mentioned that Lily wasn’t having so many nightmares about the train, at which Ray’s face clouded. He’d been hearing more rumours from his French connections about those trains, where they were going and what happened to the people crammed into the cattle wagons.
Meg caught his expression. ‘Ray. What is it?’
Ray smiled. ‘I was just thinking how glad I am that Lily is improving. No kid should go through what she’s been through.’
He could have told her about the reports from occupied Europe, the labour camps that were really death camps, but she wouldn’t believe him. Nobody would.
There were two more air raids during the time Ray was home and he insisted they go out into the shelter, though first he made sure that it was well lit inside and even took a vase of sweet-scented flowers from the living room to counteract the damp smell. Reluctant though she was, Meg accepted there just wasn’t enough room in the cupboard under the stairs. Her fears about Lily getting hysterical proved unfounded thanks to Ray clowning about, making paper chains and singing at the top of his voice, though every so often the little girl’s eyes would stray to the small entrance and the searchlight scouring the night sky.
‘Ray, you have a loud voice though not necessarily in tune. Never mind. It’s certainly enough to drown out the explosions,’ Meg said to him, an amused smile brightening her features. She dreaded him leaving. Lily wasn’t the only one who felt braver when he was around.
The time for him to return to the airbase came round quickly enough. He was standing in the hallway, the oval window set in the upper part of the door like a halo behind his head. His kitbag sat like a squat dwarf at his side and his uniform had only lately returned from the dry cleaners. Meg’s heart raced at the sight of him, and although she loved her beautiful home, Ray was the only man in her life, the only one ever. There had been nobody before him.
As they embraced, Meg breathed in the smell of him saving it to memory: cigarettes, shaving soap, a dash of cologne and a male smell that reminded her most singly of their passion of the night before.
‘Be safe,’ she whispered against his ear.
Ray sighed. ‘Meg, I don’t want to go.’
‘But you have to,’ she replied, her breath sweet on his neck.
‘Yes. Promise me you’ll go out into the shelter if there’s a raid.’ He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked down into deep-blue, almost violet eyes. He brushed back a stray lock of golden hair, tucking it behind her ear.
‘I promise.’
He knew her well enough to not quite believe her. ‘Look. If you don’t want to use the Anderson, then go to the public shelter.’
Meg wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s hardly a more commendable alternative. The Anderson is full of spiders and smells damp, and the public one is full of smelly people. Honestly,’ she added when she saw his disapproval of her comment. ‘Ray, it’s not just about being in uncomfortable surroundings. It’s what can happen when I’m not in the house. I’m telling the truth when I say that looters take advantage of empty houses during an air raid. They have no scruples, Ray.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I can’t bear the thought of them ransacking my home – our home – and besides, Lily is nervous as it is when the sirens go off. You’ve seen it. She’s only different when you’re here. We’re both different when you’re here.’ Her smile was a little sad.
Ray intensified his grip, a determined look on his face. ‘Meg. Promise me you’ll go into the shelter – any shelter. Promise!’ He shook her gently to emphasise the point.
Meg knew when it was time to give in. ‘If it will put your mind at rest then yes, I promise. But really, darling, I don’t think we have anything to fear. No bombs have fallen around here. We hear explosions but from miles away up near the docks. Warehouses mostly, though I understand some of the old terraced houses closest to the docks have gone and …’
Ray gripped her arms. ‘Meg, semi-detached houses in suburbia can tumble down as easily as old Victorian terraces.’
Meg winced, not so much because of his tight grip but because he made her doubt the comfortable world of moquette three-piece suites, plumped-up cushions, and coordinated carpets and curtains she’d built around herself. He was saying she believed that being bombed only happened to other people, not to the likes of them living in a tree-lined avenue in a pleasant suburb of London. But why shouldn’t that be so? There were no strategic targets around here. Even the barrage balloon bobbing around a few houses down seemed a waste of public money. Surely it would do better service around factories, warehouses and docks? She made a mental note to write to the authorities and tell them so.
Swiftly burying the moment of self-doubt, she surprised him with a passionate kiss on the lips and a smile. ‘I’ll make sure we’re safe when the next air raid sounds. I promise.’
He chose to believe her, mainly because he had no choice and he appreciated a peaceful life – no questions asked about his life at the base, what he did when he wasn’t on a mission, or what he planned to do for a career when the war was over.
Meg called for Lily, who was still upstairs brushing her teeth. She came dashing into the room, the legs of Loulou her rag doll dangling from beneath her arm. The doll wore a bright pink dress and had striped blue legs. Lily, who had a thing about colour, was wearing a blue striped dress and a pink bow in her hair. In a way they matched.
She flung her arms around Ray’s legs and gazed up at him imploringly. Ray hoisted her up into his arms.
‘Uncle Ray. Are you going now? Do you have to go?’
‘I do indeed, poppet. But don’t you worry. I’ll be back in time for your birthday.’ Basking in the adoration of the little girl, Ray’s unsettled thoughts vanished and at least for the time being he appreciated what he had.
‘Am I having a birthday?’
‘Yes. Of course you are. Pick a date and that’s when it will be. Anyway, who needs an excuse to have a party? Not us!’
‘I like parties,’ Lily responded, laughing. ‘How about November?’
‘Then I’ll be back before that. Lots of times before November in fact.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Meg felt her eyes growing moist as she regarded her husband and the little girl who had come to share their home and their lives. Last night in bed, those same strong arms now holding Lily had been entwined around her. Their passion had been hot and urgent, their last act of lovemaking before Ray left to fly more dangerous missions over enemy territory, dropping supplies to Resistance units or parachuting an agent to the dark landscape below.
Meg and Lily waved him off at the garden gate, staying there until he’d reached the halfway stage where he no longer looked back but strode onwards. Meg willed him to turn back and wave. It would prove he still loved her. She didn’t know when and why she had begun to think otherwise. Perhaps it was because all they did was make love; they didn’t talk, not like they used to before they were married.
Before they were married.
It had never occurred to her before that a sea change had occurred once they had walked down the aisle. Before the war he’d looked after the garden, mowing it at weekends, carrying out repairs and even the odd decorating job when needed. He had grumbled about doing it, yes, but didn’t all men grumble about home maintenance?
Everything would change once the war was over, just as Ray had changed once war had been declared. Eyes flashing with excitement, he’d dashed home to tell her that he’d joined up, crowing about how useful it had been to belong to the flying club at university. ‘They snapped me up!’
Indeed they had, and he’d not hesitated in leaving home at the earliest opp
ortunity. Home! He’d left with barely a backward glance.
Once he had disappeared, her arm still around Lily’s shoulder, Meg turned and looked at her beloved home. The house had been built in the early thirties and they’d scrimped and saved to put down their deposit, the builder assuring them they were making a shrewd investment. ‘Bricks and mortar will never let you down,’ he’d said to them. ‘Not like banks. It’s either a house or putting it under the mattress.’ They’d had no intention of putting it under the mattress. Although Ray had been worried about maintaining a job in order to make the payments, Meg was persuasive, even petulant.
She finally won him round when a small inheritance on the death of her grandparents had meant Meg could furnish it as she pleased. Number 7, Andover Avenue was the house they wanted. It was here they would bring up a family and live until their dying day. But as much as they’d wanted a family, it just hadn’t happened, so Meg threw herself into making a home.
Pale greens, soft pinks and apricots, a cool white bathroom with black and white tiles complemented with striped red and black towels; curtains made with fabrics from Liberty; furniture from a local shop that sold and made quality chairs and tables. The house was her home but no family came along. Ray had worked and she had become a doting housewife. How quickly he’d left, preferring to risk his life than stay home until he was called up.
‘He’s a man,’ she murmured. ‘Men think differently to women, do you know that, Lily?’
Lily beamed up at her.
Meg congratulated herself that she now had everything she wanted. Lily had filled the only empty space in her life. Her only wish at present was that the war would finish shortly and things would return to normal.
She watched Lily go running off into the garden while she contemplated what Ray had said about going to the shelter. Number 7 was the neatest, best-kept house in the street. The windows gleamed, rose bushes graced the flower beds in short, sharp battalions edged with marigolds, and the front door looked inviting. Her house looked strong and staid, as though it would always be there for her and she was sure it would.
Thinking of her promise to Ray, she sighed. It was no good. She couldn’t leave all that effort empty and at the mercy of looters who, to her mind, were more of a threat than the bombs. After all, there was plenty of room beneath the stairs for her and Lily. They could cope perfectly well. Besides, she didn’t want Lily’s nightmares to return and, without Ray to ease the tension, there was a chance the child would suffer them once more.
Her views on looting were based on fact. A few houses in the locality had been looted while their owners were in the shelter. It was a sad scene that people could do that instead of focusing their energies on winning this war. This bloody war!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two weeks later, in the middle of the night, the sirens rose in a frightening wail closely followed by Lily running into Meg’s bedroom, her rag doll under her arm and screaming her head off. Finally uttering a single cry of fear, she flung herself on to the bed and burrowed under the bedclothes.
Jerked from slumber, Meg folded her arms around her foster daughter’s slender form, hugging her close and at the same time reassuring her that she was there for her. That she would always be there for her.
Lily’s body convulsed with shivers and she was holding her breath as though afraid to breathe. There had been many air raids since Lily had moved in and her reaction was always the same, despite Meg’s efforts to console her and reassure her that they were quite safe. Bombs rarely fell on London suburbs. Yet again Lily would not be comforted.
‘Come on. We’d better go to the shelter,’ Meg whispered, remembering her promise to Ray.
Lily whimpered. ‘I don’t like it out there. Loulou doesn’t like it either.’
Meg sighed. ‘Neither do I, but we have to be brave. Uncle Ray’s being brave so we have to be brave too.’
The words tumbled swiftly out of her mouth. Once she’d made sure Lily was wrapped in her dressing gown, slippers on her feet, she flung on her own, took Lily by the hand, and grabbed her torch and bag containing a flask of tea, a packet of biscuits and some sandwiches – everything a person might need to survive a stay in the air-raid shelter.
Halfway down the stairs the torch beam went out. Meg swore under her breath. Thanks to the blackout curtains the house was pitch black. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. She heard Lily cry out.
‘Six more stairs, Lily. You can do it.’
‘I don’t like the dark.’
Meg didn’t need to see Lily’s face to know that she was terrified. In the darkness she felt a set of trembling fingers tighten over her own. Lily’s fingers felt fragile, almost birdlike. And they were cold, so cold.
Anger swelled up inside her. What right did anyone have to put a child through something like this? Hadn’t Lily been through enough already? Deep inside she knew it wouldn’t take much to push Lily over the edge and the thought of it made her burn with rage. Hopefully the raid would once again concentrate on the East End of London. Out here would be left unscathed and her home and her world would remain intact.
On reaching the bottom of the stairs, she gave the torch a good shake. The light flickered then died again. Reluctant to steer Lily through the rest of the house and down the garden path in the dark, she felt her way to the cupboard beneath the stairs. The sirens wailed their mournful cry before stopping abruptly, a sure sign that the enemy bombers were close by and that even the civil defence units were taking shelter. Feeling her way over the familiar wooden panels, her fingers finally found the door catch. One flick and it was open.
‘Quickly.’ She pushed Lily in first.
‘It’s so dark!’ the girl wailed.
‘Be brave, Lily. It won’t be dark for long. I’ve got a spare torch in here somewhere.’
Lily continued to whimper.
Meg groped for the torch, her fingers finally finding the switch and turning it on. This torch was smaller than the other but its sallow beam was enough to pick out everything she needed to see. Blankets and pillows covered the blow-up bed they used to take on seaside holidays but which now served as a mattress.
Ray’s words came back to her: ‘Go to the shelter. Any shelter.’ A clear vision of his grim expression accompanied his words. She’d promised she would do that but Ray couldn’t grasp just how much she loved her home. Their home was an extension of all that she was. A man such as Ray who regarded it purely as a house couldn’t possibly understand that. And anyway, there wasn’t time. Lily needed reassurance right now. When circumstances allowed she would make for the shelter.
‘But not tonight,’ she told herself and added to Lily, ‘We’ll be all right in here. Shall I read you a story or are you tired?’
Lily snuggled up to her, hiding her face against her chest. ‘I’m tired.’
Meg recognised that Lily might fall apart altogether. She hugged her closely. ‘Then let’s try to get some sleep. Then you can have an egg for breakfast when the morning comes.’
Once promised the luxury of a boiled egg, Lily snuggled down. Together they lay with their arms closely entwined, the blow-up bed barely big enough to take the pair of them. ‘It’ll all be over soon,’ Meg murmured against Lily’s silky head. ‘I expect they’re heading for the docks again. It’s ships they bomb, not us. Andover Avenue will still be here tomorrow.’
Assuring herself that the enemy planes sounded as far away as they always did, she closed her eyes. At other times they’d been in here she’d fallen asleep immediately, the sound of enemy bombers droning in the distance on their usual path. Tonight, sleep was elusive. Something was different.
Although all was pitch black and she could see nothing, she opened her eyes. She felt Lily’s body warm against her, the sweet sound of her breath and the sleepy aroma of childish hair. Something had indeed changed. The drone of the bombers seemed louder than usual. She tensed, wide awake now and listening avidly, trying to work out if they were coming their
way. Surely not! It was the docks they went after, or railway marshalling yards, not the avenues of semi-detached houses erected in the interwar years.
She closed her eyes again, though not to sleep but to pray. ‘Please, God. Don’t let them come our way.’
God did not appear to be listening. The droning grew louder, perhaps two miles away, one mile. No, closer. The house began to shake as wave after wave rumbled overhead, accompanied by the whistling of falling bombs. Lily woke up and began to scream. At the same time her arms became a stranglehold around her foster mother’s neck.
Nothing had prepared Meg for the whistling scream of bombs falling close by and the ensuing explosions that made the walls tremble and the floorboards heave beneath their feet. Wave after wave of planes thundered overhead. Bombs screeched through the air before exploding. The rumble of falling debris was bad enough. Worse still was something that sounded as though hailstones were falling on the roof or pebbles were being thrown at the windows, followed immediately by the shattering of glass windowpanes.
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Meg buried her head against Lily’s soft blonde hair, wishing she could stop her screaming, wondering what else was going on in the child’s mind, what horrors had been resurrected. Stopping the explosions was the only thing that would calm the dear child, an impossible task. All she could do was whisper soothing words, stroke and hug her in the hope her reassurances would override the hellish noise and trembling house.
For the first time she truly understood how it had been for the people in the East End of London, living close to the docks. Those poor souls, their houses destroyed and their communities in ruins. She felt for them and suddenly feared for herself, for Lily and for the house she loved so much. A deafening blast sounded from overhead and the house trembled. She thought of all her lovely things covered in the same dust that was falling on her and Lily; her best china and glassware shattered, vases in pieces, glassless windows looking out at the mayhem of a world gone mad. The hellish scream of a falling bomb filled her eardrums followed by yet another explosion. The world went black with Lily still screaming.