The Silent War

by Victor Pemberton

Helen shrugged her shoulders. ‘Be careful. I don’t like the look of him.’

  Helen opened the front door. Sunday went out. Standing outside on the landing was Ernie Mancroft.

  Sunday felt her whole body tense. ‘What are you doing here, Ernie?’ she asked warily.

  ‘Wotcha, Sun!’ Ernie replied, holding his hand out for her.

  Sunday refused to shake it.

  Ernie smiled and withdrew his hand. He was dressed really sharply, in a dark double-breasted pin-striped suit with wide lapels and padded shoulders, a wide, flashy, multicoloured tie, and his short hair combed back and sludged with thick Brylcreem. He looked like what Sunday thought he probably was – a wide-boy spiv.

  ‘I come ter offer yer congratulations, Sun,’ he said. ‘Looks like the best man’s won.’

  ‘We have nothing to say, Ernie,’ Sunday said. ‘I’m going away tomorrow, and I’ll never see you again.’

  ‘I know,’ said Ernie forlornly, bowing his head quickly, and then raising it again. ‘That’s why I wanted ter say sorry – before yer go.’

  Sunday looked suspicious. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked.

  From inside the flat there came gales of laughter as someone told a joke. Ernie waited for the row to subside before he continued. ‘I’ve bin a number-one nut, Sun. An’ I wanted yer ter know that I’m sorry for all the ’assle I’ve caused yer.’ He pulled on the fag he had been holding in his hand, and blew smoke up into the air. ‘Y’see, you’ve always bin a sorta release for me. When yer come from my kind of people, my kind of background – well, yer daydream – about beautiful fings, beautiful people. That’s what yer’ve always bin ter me, Sun – a beautiful person. I couldn’t get yer outa my mind. But . . .’ He threw his fag to the stone landing floor, and stubbed his foot on it. ‘As my ol’ man used ter say – there’s always a time ter move on. An’ I reckon I’m about ready ter do just that,’ he said, with one of his old mischievous grins. Then he turned towards the staircase, and called, ‘Nick!’

  Sunday strained to see who was coming up the stone steps. It was a brassy-looking girl, with frizzy black hair, a pale complexion; and a good slap of make-up. She actually had a sweet, smiling face, except that at this particular moment her head seemed to be a little too small for her body.

  ‘Sun,’ Ernie said, bringing the girl forward. ‘I’d like yer ter meet Nicky. Nick, this is Sun.’

  The girl stretched out her hand to Sunday. ‘’Allo, Sunday,’ she said squeakily. ‘Yer’ve got a lovely name. Ernie’s told me all about yer.’

  Sunday was puzzled, confused. She shook hands with the girl. ‘Thank you,’ was all she could say.

  Ernie was enjoying Sunday’s reaction. ‘Nick an’ me’s gettin’ spliced,’ he said proudly. ‘If we make it in time, that is,’ he added, patting her belly.

  ‘Ernie!’ snapped the girl, immediately blushing. ‘Don’t embarrass me, for Gord’s sake!’

  ‘What the hell’re you doin’ here!’

  Gary came out of the flat, and immediately put his arms protectively around Sunday. ‘No, Gary!’ Sunday said, quickly restraining him. ‘Ernie’s getting married.’

  Gary froze, and did a double-take.

  ‘This is his fiancée.’

  The brassy girl held out a limp hand to Gary. ‘’Ow d’yer do. I’m Nicky.’

  Gary was so taken aback, he shook hands with her.

  Then Ernie held out his hand. ‘Wotcha, mate! No ’ard feelin’s, I ’ope?’

  Gary was suspicious, and exchanged a questioning look with Sunday. But the look on her face told him that it was all right, so he shook hands with Ernie.

  Ernie had a broad grin on his face. ‘I’ll tell yer somefin’, mate,’ he said cheekily. ‘Yer got a good right-’ander there.’ And to illustrate what he meant, he rubbed his chin. ‘An’ I should know!’

  ‘Would you like to come in and have a drink, Ernie?’ Sunday asked, rather daringly Gary thought.

  Ernie shook his head, and took hold of the brassy girl’s hand. ‘Nah fanks, Sun,’ he answered. ‘Gotta get the ol’ gel ’ome. She ain’t gettin’ any younger!’

  The girl pushed him, and put her arm through his.

  ‘So, all the best ter boaf of yer,’ said Ernie. ‘’Ere’s ter ’appy times.’ Then he took one last look at Sunday, making direct eye contact with her. ‘Be seein’ yer then, Sun.’

  Sunday looked straight into his eyes, and was shocked to recognise despair in them. ‘Be seeing you, Ernie,’ she replied, giving him for the very first time a warm smile.

  Then Ernie and his girl turned, and made for the stairs. But the moment they had disappeared out of view, Ernie’s voice came echoing up the staircase.

  ‘Give me best ter Uncle Sam!’ he called.

  As expected, the last of the guests didn’t leave until well into the evening, and once Sunday had drawn the curtains, she and Gary set about cleaning up, and putting all the remaining bits and pieces into packing-cases. It was past midnight before they got to bed, and Sunday thought it ironic that she should be spending her wedding night in her own flat and her own bed. But tonight was different, very different. After all, she and Gary had slept together before, and she was now wearing a sexy nightdress he had brought for her from the States, which was very different to the pyjamas and old towelling robe she had always been used to wearing. But by the time she turned off the light and snuggled down in Gary’s arms, there was no doubt that both of them were absolutely exhausted. So, for a while, they just lay there in the dark, mesmerised by a thin shaft of wintry moonlight which was mischievous enough to peer through a gap in the thick velour curtains.

  ‘You know something, Gary,’ Sunday said, her voice barely audible. ‘I’m scared.’

  Gary turned to face her good ear. ‘Scared? What of?’ he asked softly.

  ‘The future. What it’s all going to be like. What I have to do to hold on to you.’

  In the dark, Gary smiled. Then he smoothed her hair gently with his hand. ‘The future’s going to be just fine,’ he said. ‘We’re together, Sun. You don’t have to hold on to me, because from now on I’m never going anywhere without you.’ He leant over and kissed her tenderly on her forehead.

  ‘The thing is,’ Sunday continued, ‘when I said goodbye to all the children at school yesterday, I couldn’t help thinking about what it’s been like this past year.’ She turned to face him. ‘I still have nightmares. I can see me walking along Holloway Road, with my hands clutched over my ears. I can see people’s faces as they yell at me, telling me to take cover. Why couldn’t I hear what they were hearing? Why was everything so quiet, so silent? Those kids – I was just as helpless as those kids, running through streets with bombs falling around me, not being able to know how close I was to death, not knowing which way to run, not understanding what I was supposed to do in that horrible silent war.’ She paused a moment, then added, ‘Gary, I was so scared. I’m still scared.’

  Gary remained quiet for a moment before answering. Then he spoke. ‘You know why, Sun?’ he said. ‘You’re scared because of the uncertainty, because somewhere inside you’re convinced it’s all goin’ to happen again, that you’re goin’ to wake up one morning and find you’ve been plunged back into that silent world.’

  ‘But it’s possible.’

  ‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘But you never thought it was possible to hear anythin’ again.’ He snuggled up closer. ‘Look at it this way, Sun,’ he said. ‘You have a great advantage over so many people. You’ve been there. You know what it’s like. Whatever happens from now on can never be the same. Just don’t ever forget those kids, because they won’t forget you. Remember everything you’ve learnt – about sign language, lip-reading, the whole works. When you meet my ma, show her what you can do. She understands British sign language. She’ll help you. We owe it to ourselves to make sure that we keep in touch with any goddamn person who can’t hear, can’t read or write, or can’t see. We owe it to those kids, to all kids, to everyone. You won’t be
scared, Sun, because I won’t let you.’

  They lay in the dark for several minutes without saying anything. All Sunday could think about now was how much she loved him.

  After a few moments, Gary reached beneath the bed-clothes, and removed his undershorts. Then, while he was taking off his vest, he heard the rustle of Sunday’s nightdress as she slipped it over her head. He was soon kneeling over her, one leg either side of her. And in the dark, he leaned forward, found her lips again, and pressed his own against them.

  And then they made love.

  When Sunday woke first thing in the morning, she had butterflies in her stomach. So much was happening today, leaving the flat, leaving ‘the Buildings’, leaving Holloway, and leaving behind everything she had known since she was a child. Worst of all was the thought of going on an airplane for the first time in her life, all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, twenty hours in the air, with stops in Scotland, Iceland, and Newfoundland before even getting to New York. Twenty hours! And then that long train journey all the way across America to Gary’s home in Montana. And meeting his parents, his sister, and all the family. Oh God! What would happen if they hated her on sight! She was beginning to think it was all a big mistake.

  Gary took his time getting up. After all, it was only eight o’clock and the taxi wasn’t coming to collect them until eleven. Anyway, the only reason he got up at all was because of the thought of fried eggs, and bread being toasted in the kitchen. So he quickly shaved and took a bath, and in twenty minutes he and Sunday were sitting at the only table that was left in the entire flat, sipping tea and Camp coffee, and making the most of their last breakfast on British soil for a heck of a long time.

  Whilst they were in the middle of eating, Gary noticed that Sunday was looking a little despondent.

  ‘What’s on your mind, babe?’ he asked.

  Sunday put down her knife and fork. ‘Aunt Louie,’ she said, with a sigh.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. She never came back here after the wedding.’

  ‘I know,’ Sunday said, leaving the rest of her fried egg and toast. ‘I said goodbye to her outside the Town Hall.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  Sunday pondered for a moment. ‘I’d hoped – that she might tell me something before I went. About my mother. My real mother.’

  ‘Sunday . . .’ Gary leaned across the table, held her hand, and stroked it affectionately with one finger. ‘You’re who you are, not where you came from. It doesn’t matter who your parents were.’

  ‘It matters to me, Gary,’ she said, getting up from the table, and taking her plate to the sink. ‘I can’t bear going through life with this cloud hanging over me. My mum pledged Aunt Louie to secrecy. There must be a reason why.’

  Gary had by now finished his breakfast, so he got up from the table, picked up his plate and put it down in the sink. ‘Look, Sun,’ he said, holding her round the waist, and looking into her eyes. ‘If this is that important to you, we’ll find out.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We’ll pay someone to snoop around.’

  Sunday shook her head. ‘No, Gary. It’ll be all right once I’m away from here, away from this flat, away from all these memories. All I wish – is that Aunt Louie could have found it in her heart to – to tell me.’

  They were suddenly interrupted by someone knocking on the front door. Both looked startled.

  ‘It can’t be already!’ gasped Sunday, panicking.

  ‘Don’t be a dope, babe!’ said Gary, rushing after her out of the kitchen. ‘The taxi isn’t due for two more hours!’

  Sunday pulled her towelling robe tightly around her, then hurried to the front door. When she opened it, she was astonished to see who was standing there.

  ‘Mrs Denning!’ she said. ‘What a surprise. Come in.’

  Still in his vest and shorts, Gary quickly retreated to the bedroom.

  ‘I’m sorry to call on you so early, Sunday,’ said Captain Sarah, as she entered. ‘But I wanted to catch you before you left.’

  Sunday shut the door, and showed her into the parlour. ‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a chair,’ she said apologetically. ‘We’ve got rid of nearly everything.’

  Captain Sarah waved her hand dismissively. It was the first time Sunday had ever seen her out of uniform. ‘What I have to say will only take a few minutes. I’ve got something for you to take with you to America.’ She unclipped her handbag, brought out a small oblong-shaped packet wrapped in brown paper. ‘It’s a little wedding gift,’ she said, handing the packet to Sunday.

  ‘What is it?’ Sunday asked. ‘Can I open it now?’

  The Captain smiled. ‘Of course.’

  Sunday opened the packet. Inside was a small framed photograph of the Highbury Salvation Army Brass Band.

  ‘We thought you’d like a little memento,’ said Captain Sarah, pointing out something in the photo. ‘That’s your mum – there, d’you see, second from the left? Euphonium on her lap, as always.’ She looked up at Sunday. ‘I hope you like it?’

  Sunday was too upset to answer.

  The Captain smiled comfortingly, took Sunday’s free hand and held it. ‘It’s our parting gift, Sunday. To tell you that you will always be in our thoughts.’

  ‘Thank you,’ was all Sunday was capable of saying.

  ‘Now, will you allow me to do one last thing?’

  Her eyes fighting back tears, Sunday looked puzzled.

  ‘May we pray together? Just a moment or so, no more.’

  Sunday hadn’t expected this. But after all the kindness this woman had shown her, she just couldn’t say no. ‘Of course,’ she answered.

  For the next few minutes, Sunday closed her eyes whilst her mum’s old friend, eyes also tightly closed and turned skywards, prayed for the future happiness of this ‘heavenly child, who will now go forth in the sight of our Lord Jesus Christ, son of God’.

  Whilst this was going on, Gary made quite certain that he kept himself out of sight in the bedroom. But he listened at the door, and hoped that Sunday would be able to cope with it all.

  When the Captain had finished, she took hold of both of Sunday’s hands, then leaned forward, and kissed her first on one cheek and then the other. ‘The Lord go with you, our dear Sunday,’ she said.

  Sunday hugged her. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Denning,’ she said. ‘Please give everyone my love at the Hall. Tell them, tell them they’ll always be in my thoughts.’

  Captain Sarah smiled. Then, for a brief moment, she became serious again. ‘There’s just one more thing before I go,’ she said. And once again, she dipped into her handbag. This time she brought out a buff, oblong-shaped envelope. ‘Take this please, Sunday,’ she said rather formally. ‘It was supposed to be saved until your twenty-first birthday, but you’re not a child any more, you’re a married woman. And who knows, I may never see you again. It’s from your dear mum.’

  Sunday’s heart missed a beat. She took the envelope, and immediately recognised her mum’s rather shaky handwriting on the outside, which read simply, ‘Miss Sunday Collins.’

  ‘No more shadows now, Sunday,’ said the older woman. ‘May the Lord be with you.’ She turned and made her way to the front door.

  Sunday went with her and opened the door for her.

  Captain Sarah stopped briefly to say only, ‘Don’t read it now, child,’ she said. ‘Wait until you’ve left here.’ With that, she left.

  Sunday closed the door, then just stood there, leaning her back against it, and clutching her mum’s letter to her chest.

  Gary had only just finished the packing when Jack Popwell knocked on the front door to say that the taxi had arrived. Again Sunday had butterflies in her stomach, and once Gary and Jack had taken the suitcases downstairs, she was left alone to bid her own farewell to the only home she had ever known.

  She knew this was going to be the hardest part of all, standing in the middle of an empty flat which had always been so full of a lifetime’s possessions that reflected those
who had lived there. She could still see her mum pottering around the place, sweeping, dusting, polishing, cleaning the windows. And the all-pervading smell of carbolic – yes, that was still there, and probably always would be. And as she took a last look in at her mum’s bedroom, now stripped bare of everything but the two single beds, in her mind’s eye she could see Aunt Louie stretched out on her bed, smoking one of her foul-smelling rolled-up fags, whilst devouring every article and photograph in any women’s magazine she could lay her hands on. And Sunday’s own bedroom, small and airless, but the centre of her universe since she was a small child. Every room looked so naked, so utterly unnatural. Was she really turning her back on all this, leaving behind all those fond and bitter memories? But it had to come to an end some time. Or did it? Was it really possible that when the eye could no longer see, the heart would forget?

  Back in the parlour, she collected her shoulder bag, and took one last look around the room. But something suddenly caught her eye. The mantelpiece. She went back there and rubbed her finger along the surface. It was covered in dust. Without being too conscious of what she was doing, she took a clean handkerchief out of her shoulder bag, then wiped it all along the surface of the mantelpiece.

  ‘Is that all right, Mum?’ she asked in a quiet and gentle voice that only she and Madge Collins could hear.

  Then she replaced the dusty handkerchief in her shoulder bag, determined that it would never be washed again.

  Gary, and Jack Popwell and his wife Ivy, were waiting for Sunday by the taxi, which had parked just outside the Camden Road entrance to ‘the Buildings’. Gathered with them was a small crowd of neighbours and well-wishers, who had come to give one of their favourite girls a good send-off. The moment Sunday saw them, she had to take a deep breath to fight back the tears.

  ‘You take care of this young ragamuffin, mate!’ sniffed Jack to Gary, his nose red with the bitter cold, his voice determined not to crack under the strain. ‘I’ve known ’er since she was pint-sized. Little perisher she was!’

  Sunday bit her lip as hard as she could, then threw her arms around him. ‘’Bye, Jack,’ was all she dared say. Then she turned to his new wife, Ivy, and hugged her too. Behind her, she could hear deep sobbing. Her face crumpled up. ‘’Bye, Doll,’ she said with the utmost difficulty.