Put Out the Fires

by Maureen Lee

  Matt continued to lie there until it became dark. There was no moon that night and the blackness was total, as was the silence. Ruth must be fast asleep, thank goodness. For a brief moment, Matt considered making a quick getaway before she woke and the whole thing started up again, but the thought was rejected as fast as it came. She had no-one except him, and although the marriage vows had meant nothing at the time, nevertheless he’d made them and he felt he owed her something. She was a good woman who’d had a rotten deal from life over the last few years.

  The hours crept by. Matt had never felt less like sleep, yet he was on early shift tomorrow—no, today. Perhaps it might be a good idea to get undressed. He was about to get off the bed, when he heard footsteps on the landing and there was a knock on the bedroom door.

  “Matt, are you awake?” Ruth called.

  His heart sank and he wondered what she wanted. He dreaded another scene. “Yes,” he said.

  The door opened and she came in. “I thought you might be. Do you mind if I put the light on?”

  To his relief, she sounded quite calm. “The curtains aren’t drawn,” he warned.

  “I’ll see to it.”

  She drew the curtains, turned the gas mantle on, and he saw she was, like him, still wearing the clothes she’d had on all day. She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “I’m all right now,” she said.

  Matt watched her, unsure what his reaction should be.

  What did she mean, she was all right now?

  Ruth shivered. “It’s cold in here.” She took Jacob’s old overcoat from where it still hung behind the door and draped it round her shoulders. She pulled a wry face as she touched a worn cuff. “I’ve been thinking about my father.

  You know, I’d scarcely noticed he was dead, I was so taken up with Michael.”

  Her face was no longer haggard, the lines had smoothed out. In fact, her expression was as calm as her voice.

  Matt continued to watch her warily, unsure as to whether this was merely another mood she’d swung into.

  “Oh, Matt!” she said softly. “You look absolutely terrified. I promise I’m not going to eat you. I’ve been lying on the bed all this time, just thinking: about my father, about Simon and Leah—I’d almost forgotten about my own children. The more I thought, the clearer everything became. I would have been a terrible mother to Michael. He’ll be far better off with Dilys. I was trying to make up for all the things I’d done wrong with Simon and Leah. I thought, if I loved Michael hard enough and strong enough, then I’d never lose him the way I lost them.”

  Matt felt his body sag with relief. She really was all right. “I suppose it was only natural,” he said.

  “And the way I behaved when Dilys came . . . ”

  He interrupted harshly, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Ruth. Dilys Evans may be dim, and perhaps she didn’t do it deliberately, but she used you quite ruthlessly in her own way.”

  “Don’t make excuses for me, Matt. I think I’ve been slowly going mad over the last few months.” She looked at him. “It wasn’t just Michael, either. Benjy and I didn’t get on well for years. I was trying to put it right through you, except that you wouldn’t let me!”

  “I think I realised it was something like that.”

  “Poor Matt! I’ve really put you through the wringer, haven’t I? I’m surprised you stayed.”

  “It never crossed my mind to do otherwise.” Not until tonight.

  “You’re welcome to leave at any time. Tomorrow, if you wish.”

  He looked at her dazedly. “But what about, you know, before?”

  She smiled. “As if I would hold you to that! I feel embarrassed when I think about it. I told you, I’m all right, though I shall cry a lot over the next few days thinking about Michael. I already miss him terribly. But I don’t love you, Matt, not now that I’ve come to my senses, and you don’t love me, though it was good of you to pretend.”

  “I wasn’t . . . ”

  She put her hand on his arm. “Yes, you were, Matt. I can’t help but wonder why?”

  Matt frowned and wondered why himself. “You know,” he said, surprised, “I think I was doing the same as you. I deserted Maria when she needed me most. I suppose I thought it would make up for what I did if I stuck by you.”

  Ruth nodded. “You didn’t desert her, and I wasn’t a bad mother to Simon and Leah. You’re as bad as me, Matt, in your own way, both trying to put the past right in the present.”

  “What will you do now?” Matt asked.

  “I’ve thought about that, too. I shall keep on with Reece’s—the pay’s good and I quite enjoy it—and become a piano teacher. I’ll put an advert in the Echo next time I go into town. Quite a lot of people who know about these things will have heard of me. I had quite a good reputation in my day as a budding concert pianist. As soon as I have enough money, then I shall be off to America in search of Simon and Leah. Perhaps you can give me all those addresses you spoke of before I go.”

  “I promised to come with you, didn’t I?” Ruth shrugged. “It’s up to you, Matt. I don’t mind either way. As far as I’m concerned, you can leave tomorrow.”

  She laughed. “I absolve you of all promises.”

  Incredibly, Matt felt slightly hurt that now she was herself again he seemed to mean so little to her. “We’ve only known each other a short time, but we’ve been through a lot together. Is that how you really feel?”

  She thought a while. “No, it’s not. I like you very much, and I shall be sorry to see you go, very sorry, but I don’t want you to feel under any obligation.”

  “In that case, I’d sooner stay, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  “As I said once, we have a lot in common.”

  Ruth nodded her head. “That’s right, and now we have even more, shared experiences, though not exactly pleasant. Which reminds me, did Dilys leave an address?”

  Matt looked at her, frowning. “No, and I don’t think it would be a good idea to keep in touch.”

  “It wasn’t for me, but for Dai. I’d forgotten all about him. He’ll be upset when he finds Michael’s gone.”

  “Reg Harvey has a draper’s shop in Portsmouth. Dai Evans can easily find her if he really wants to.”

  “I suppose so.” She stood up. “I think I might be able to sleep now.” She turned the light out and looked through the curtains. “It’s getting light already.”

  Matt groaned. “I’ve got to go to work . . . ” he looked at his watch, “in two hours’ time.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. Would you like some cocoa?”

  “I wouldn’t mind, thanks,” he said, stretching. “I don’t think I shall bother sleeping myself, I doubt if I’d wake up in time. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea if we bought an alarm clock?”

  “Why don’t you come downstairs? The BBC will be starting up shortly and I’ll make breakfast. We’ll have tea instead of cocoa.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “I’ll boil some water for you to get washed in.”

  Ruth left. Matt put his hands behind his head and lay listening to the noises coming from downstairs: the fire was raked, the kettle filled, dishes rattled in the kitchen.

  He felt surprisingly contented. He heard the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobbled street and the flutter of seagulls on the roof, followed by their ugly squawk. It reminded him of the bird singing its tiny heart out at the cottage, and it seemed incredible it had only happened twelve hours ago. He thought about Eileen Costello in her gingham smock, her hands resting on her stomach, her legs bare and gleaming in the sunshine, and instead of the rush of desire he always felt when she crossed his mind, there was nothing!

  He sat upright on the bed, puzzled, and tried to untangle the ravel in his brain. Gradually, everything fell into place, and he realised he’d been fooling himself, telling himself he loved her when he didn’t. It had merely been a way, in his mind at least, of extricating hi
mself from Ruth’s clutches. Eileen Costello was a lovely woman; they got on well together and he liked her very much, but that was all.

  Now that everything had been sorted out, he felt a strong desire to remain with Ruth; two lost souls who both knew all each other’s secrets. What was it he’d said once which had amused her? They were “like flotsam and jetsam thrown together on the shore!”

  “Breakfast’s ready, Matt!”

  He got off the bed, bones aching. “Coming, Ruth,” he called.

  Chapter 22

  The baby hadn’t moved for days. Perhaps it was dead, Eileen thought in a panic. She stroked her stomach through her nightdress, but could feel nothing except a hard lump. Her back started to ache and she groaned inwardly and considered turning over, but it was a major job, turning over in bed when you were eight-and-ahalfmonths pregnant. She felt unreasonably irritated with her sister, sleeping soundly beside her. The trouble was, Sheila kept such early hours and insisted Eileen came to bed with her.

  “You need your sleep, someone in your condition.”

  “I’m fed up with hearing that! You’d think I was the first woman in the world to have a baby,” Eileen complained.

  “I wish I’d had someone to wait on me hand and foot each time I was expecting.”

  “I don’t want to be waited on hand and foot, thanks all the same. I want to do things. I feel full of energy.”

  She’d never thought it possible, but her sister was actually beginning to get on her nerves. Sheila acted as if Number 16 was already hers. Eileen was shooed out of the kitchen, told to put her feet up, and not allowed to lift a finger, when she felt like spring-cleaning the house from top to bottom or beating the hell out of a cake.

  “Still, she’s only got me best interests at heart,” Eileen thought, “even if she’s killing me with kindness. It’s probably me own fault, anyroad. I’m dead touchy at the moment.” She was quite likely to burst into tears at the drop of a hat.

  Tomorrow, Cal would be home and perhaps Sheila’s attention would be switched to him, though they still hadn’t sorted out where Cal was to sleep, assuming that is he and Sheila slept together. All sorts of computations had been run through: the girls could sleep with Eileen, the boys could go in with the girls, the girls with the boys. Whichever way would cause disruption.

  “I don’t like the idea of you sleeping with three children, not in your condition,” Sheila said.

  Neither did Eileen, whatever her condition, though she said nothing, and felt like an intruder in her own home.

  Sheila folded her arms and pondered hard. “I suppose Cal could kip down on the settee, and I’ll come upstairs after . . . ”

  “After what?” Eileen asked innocently.

  “After . . . you know.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Come off it, Sis! It sounds awfully practical though, put like that, not a bit romantic”

  “Perhaps I could sleep on the settee?” Eileen suggested.

  She’d never speak to her sister again if the offer was accepted.

  “Don’t be stupid!” Sheila said scathingly. “As if I’d let you do that in your condition!”

  And that was where the matter of Cal’s sleeping arrangements rested for now.

  Eileen raised herself on her elbow and glanced at the phosphorous figures on the alarm clock. Only a quarter past eleven! What person in their right mind went to bed at such an early hour when they didn’t have to go to work next day? she thought indignantly. No wonder she had so much energy to spare. She was lying down, if not sleeping, for at least two hours more than she was used to.

  Feeling a bit like a child doing something naughty, she threw the covers back and slithered awkwardly out of bed.

  She’d make herself a cup of warm milk and listen to the wireless.

  Downstairs, she put the milk on the stove and reread Nick’s latest letter as she waited.

  It’s hot, hot, hot here, though things are far less dangerous than they were back home. Twenty of us take off on a mission, and believe it or not, twenty of us return, all safe and sound.

  The post is very unreliable. I got nothing for a month, then three of your letters arrived all at once! I have since read all three at least a hundred times.

  Maybe it’s the heat, but I miss you more than ever. I fantasise about us making love, kissing you, touching you all over . . . I feel sad that I won’t see you bearing my child.

  Describe yourself! I imagine you looking like a beautiful hippopotamus. Eileen, my darlinggirl, I ache when I think of you. We must never forget what it’s like being apart, such an awful, gnawing ache. Do you feel it, too? I know we’ll row and perhaps say bitter things in the future, but we must try not to hurt each other ever again . . .

  The milk began to simmer and Eileen folded the letter up and tucked it back in her handbag. If she read it through to the end she’d only cry. There was music on the Home Service, something classical which sounded very sad and romantic. She curled herself up in a chair as best she could and began to sip the milk as she thought about Nick. It seemed inconceivable that the day would come when the war would be over and they would live peacefully together in the cottage. She tried to imagine a normal day, waking up in Nick’s arms, him going to work, Tony to school . . .

  Oh, God! There were still times when she found it hard to believe her son was dead. She turned the wireless off, the music was too sad and made her want to weep for the things she’d lost and the things she’d missed.

  “I’ll turn it on again for the midnight bulletin,” she decided. “Then I’ll go back to bed.” She hadn’t listened to the news all day and Ryan and Mary had made paper hats out of the Daily Herald before she’d had an opportunity to read it, which meant she hadn’t a clue what was going in the world at the moment.

  The Russians were suffering terribly, she knew that much. Stalin had adopted a “scorched earth” policy, which meant the Germans might well take a town, but there was nothing left to take, everything had been destroyed in the wake of the retreating Russian Army. Last time she’d managed to catch the news, it had been announced that Kiev, the capital of the Ukraine, was about to fall.

  Still, she thought, everyone at home was rallying round the Russians, raising funds and offering aid of every conceivable sort—the RAF was sending two “Wings”, whatever they were, and next week was “Tanks for Russia” week—much to her dad’s disgust.

  “I’m not against the aid, of course not, but they wouldn’t have given the Reds so much as a toy gun before, let alone a tank! They’re nowt but bloody hypocrites, the lot of them. It’s Russia this, and Russia that. Communism’s suddenly become respectable, and Joseph Stalin has turned overnight into ‘Uncle Joe’. The whole thing makes me sick.”

  Eileen heard the backyard door open and close and there was a tap on the living room window. It could only be her dad, hoping she’d be up. He’d probably come for a good old moan about something.

  To her utter astonishment, it was her brother, Sean, outside.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” she said, aghast.

  “Come on in, luv. You look fair whacked out.”

  Sean threw himself wearily into a chair. His face was pale and there were dark shadows underneath his eyes.

  “Mrs Scully died last night,” he said.

  Eileen looked down at him, frowning. “How on earth did you find out?” The news hadn’t even reached Pearl Street yet.

  “I got a telegram.”

  “Did you now!” Eileen bit her lip and held her tongue.

  She felt sorry for Alice, but it seemed more than a little unreasonable to have fetched Sean all the way from Lincolnshire for something that had been on the cards a long time. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a butty. I don’t want nothing cooked, me belly’s a bit upset.”

  “All right, luv. I’ll do you a bit of hot milk at the same time. We’ve plenty of milk at the mom
ent, I get extra on me green ration book.”

  Eileen went into the back kitchen, feeling angry. His belly was upset! Not surprising, seeing as he’d spent the day racing from one side of the country to the other. “I’m surprised the RAF let you go,” she said. “I thought you only got compassionate leave if it was a close relative who’d died.”

  “That’s why I didn’t ask,” Sean said tiredly. “I just upped and left when I got the telegram.”

  “Oh, Sean!” Eileen gasped. She stopped cutting the bread and went to the doorway. “You’re not—what’s it called, absent without leave?”

  “AWOL, that’s right,” Sean looked sulky. “I had no choice. I had to be with Alice, didn’t I?”

  “No, you didn’t, luv,” Eileen said indignantly. “Alice had no right to send for you. She’s stacks of neighbours who will help, and there’s me! I call in every week or so.”

  “That’s what Alice said when I arrived. It wasn’t her who sent the telegram, it was Tommy. She really laid into him in front of the neighbours.” Sean managed the glimmer of a smile. “He’ll be turning up for work tomorrer with a big bruise on his chin. Y’see,” he explained, suddenly very grown up, “Tommy looks on me as a dad. They all do, the little ones. I was the first person Tommy thought of when his mam died.”

  “You were always a flighty bugger, our Sean, but you weren’t at the girls when you were only four!” Eileen returned to the kitchen. “So, Alice wasn’t very pleased to see you, then?”

  “Not in the least,” Sean said ruefully. “She really blew her top. Then she flew at Tommy, and chucked me out! She said the sooner I got back to camp, the less trouble I’d be in.”

  “Here you are, luv, here’s your butty. I’ve done a few more to take back with you.”

  “I don’t need them yet, Eil. I thought I’d stay the night here. I daren’t go round to me dad’s, he’ll kill me.”

  “No, Sean.” Eileen shook her head firmly. “Alice is right.