The Street of Broken Dreams

by Tania Crosse

  His heart gave a painful thud, for suddenly he couldn’t see Cissie, and he was overwhelmed by a protective urge. She probably stood at little over five foot and was so slight, she could easily be crushed. For a moment or so, he was really worried, but all at once she reappeared at his side, her face torn with worry.

  ‘I’ve lost Zac!’ she screamed above the clamour of the thousands of voices. ‘He’ll be terrified!’

  Jake knew he had to do something. Recent memories of when he’d helped the fire brigade after flying bomb attacks came to his rescue. Keep calm and don’t panic. You can’t help if you’re in a state yourself.

  ‘Stick with me,’ he instructed, taking Cissie’s arm. ‘We’ll find him.’

  She glanced up at him and he saw trust in her eyes – trust he hoped he could justify.

  He ploughed his way through the crowds, calling out a repeated, ‘Excuse us, please! Looking for a lost child!’ with the same authority he’d used when trying to bring help through a crowd watching a bombed or burning building.

  Cissie seemed to accept his white lie without questioning.

  ‘He can’t have gone far,’ he tried to reassure her, raising his voice above the noise, and he felt her fingers tighten desperately on his arm.

  Jake kept raising himself on tiptoe to see over the heads of the crowds. Fortunately he was tall, but Zac was even taller. It wasn’t many minutes before Jake spied a figure, hat knocked askew in the crush, one hand over his head and his other thumb plugged in his mouth as he turned frantic circles.

  ‘I’ve got him!’ Jake shouted at Cissie, dragging her through the throng and not taking his eyes from Zac’s petrified figure.

  ‘Here, get out the way, you moron!’ someone was mocking Zac as they finally reached him.

  ‘Yeah, who let you out of the asylum?’ another youngster, not in uniform and probably about the same age as Jake, was jeering as he spun Zac round so the poor lad became even more disorientated.

  Jake couldn’t believe what happened next. Before he had a chance to do anything himself, Cissie broke away from him, and giving one of the chaps making fun of Zac an almighty shove, she elbowed the other viciously in the ribs.

  ‘Just you leave him be!’ she yelled.

  Pulling Zac away, she glared defiantly at the two startled bullies who’d begun to back away. Jake caught them exchanging glances and while one of them stared back at Cissie with his jaw dangling open, the other raised his hands in submission.

  ‘Blimey, she your girl?’ he blurted out to Jake who had one hand each on Zac and Cissie, trying to direct them away from any more trouble. ‘Good luck ter yer, mate. I wouldn’t want ’er. Bloomin’ little spitfire.’

  Jake didn’t answer, but his eyes snapped at both men over his shoulder as he dragged Zac and Cissie away through the crowds. Zac looked a lot less worried now, asking in his slow drawl when Big Ben was going to light up. But Jake could see that Cissie’s face was still tense, ready to give anyone else the length of her tongue. He decided it was an occasion when discretion was the better part of valour, so he did nothing as his sharp eyes searched out his parents. Besides, a peculiar sensation had come over him, locking his brain in unwanted confusion as the stranger’s words whirled in his head. Cissie his girl? Well, there was no denying he was attracted to her. She was a beauty, and when they’d been talking on the long walk up to Westminster, she’d opened up to him quite pleasantly. But the fellow was right that she could be as sharp as a razor, and Jake still felt there was some mystery about her. He wasn’t sure whether it intrigued or deterred him. But yes, overall, he considered he did quite like the idea of Cissie being his girl. Not that he imagined there was any chance of it!

  ‘Oh, there you are! We was so worried when we got pushed apart!’ Eva cried, relief written on her face. ‘You all OK?’

  ‘We lost Zac for a few minutes, but we’re all right now,’ Jake answered simply, not wanting to go into detail. He didn’t want Cissie reacting again and relating their little contretemps with the two men, although he could see she was concentrating now on keeping a tight grip on her brother.

  ‘Thank Gawd for that.’ Eva nodded her head up and down, her lips bunched. ‘So how long before they turn the lights on? It’s flipping gloomy down here and cold enough to freeze your arse off. And I’ve had enough of being squashed in the crowds, too. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bright idea to come, after all.’

  Yes, Jake was beginning to wonder the same thing. It was all right for him and his dad, both being tall and strong. But for his mum and Cissie, who were both short, it must be quite daunting. Once again, Jake experienced a need to protect Cissie – even if she could probably take care of herself by all accounts – but he also felt a responsibility towards Zac, especially as he’d been the one to go round to their house and invite them to come with them!

  But, glancing up, he could just see the hands of the giant clock in the sky coming up to the hour and, a moment later, the seething multitude magically hushed as the bells rang out their familiar prelude. And then, on the first stroke of the hour, a faint glimmer behind the four faces of the clock grew in intensity and finally reached its old, proud, luminous glow. Such a cheer went up from the thousands of throats that it was deafening, and people began jumping up and down and hugging each other in jubilation. Victory, peace, they must be nearly there. What rejoicing there would be when the end was finally announced!

  Jake realised that someone had started singing, and voices all around were joining in. For Jake, there was no better way of expressing emotion than in song, and his own tenor tones were soon added to the general cacophony. Cissie glanced up at him, her hazel eyes warm with delighted surprise, doing something unexpected to his heart before he sang out even more lustily than before.

  They stayed a little longer, caught up in the general euphoria, but Stan and Jake both had work in the morning. As soon as the pressing crowd began to thin, they started to make their way home. Zac was turning his head round as he walked, trying to look back at the illuminated faces of Big Ben, grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Someone looks happier now,’ Jake observed, using his eyes to indicate Zac.

  ‘Yes.’ Cissie smiled up at Jake, making his chest squeeze. ‘Thank you for bringing us. And for looking after us.’

  Jake returned her smile, relieved that the outing had been a success after all, and was about to say it had been a pleasure, when Stan turned round to them.

  ‘Looks like the bus queues are as long as your arm,’ he grimaced. ‘D’you want to wait, or are you up for walking home?’

  Jake glanced down at Cissie and saw her puff out her cheeks. ‘Might as well walk, if that’s OK with everyone else. What about you, Mrs Parker?’

  ‘Oh, do call me Eva. But I’m fitter than what you think. But I thought you had a bad ankle, ducks?’

  ‘Oh.’ Cissie appeared to correct herself. ‘I have, but it feels fine, so I’m happy to walk. We can always catch a bus later if need be.’

  ‘Sounds like a good plan to me,’ Jake agreed. ‘So which side of the river d’you want to go? The way we came, or over the other side?’

  Was it his imagination, or did his heart do a little jig when Cissie looked up at him and smiled. ‘The way we came. It’s prettier, don’t you think?’

  Oh, yes. That suited Jake just fine!

  Nine

  Eva’s chest collapsed as she released a sigh of frustration and leant back in the chair, her heavy eyelids closing. If truth be told, her blooming legs were aching from the walk up to Westminster and back the previous evening. It had been a wonderful experience, mind, almost magical, despite it being so cold for the time of year. As if things really were starting to get back to normal, even if in general terms they weren’t. For here she was, poring over their ration books and points coupons, trying to decide what the flipping heck they were going to eat for the week.

  Rations were easy. You just took everything you could – provided your grocer had it in stock. With sugar a
nd preserves you could manage with less, but everything else was essential: half a pound of fats, a quarter of bacon, two ounces each of cheese and tea and one measly egg. The fat ration might sound reasonable, but if you needed sandwiches to take to work all week it soon went, and then the whole of the rest of it went into pies and dumplings and the like to fill a working man’s stomach. As for milk, four adults in the house meant a total of eight pints a week, one delivered each weekday by the milkman from his horse and cart, with three on Saturdays to tide them over the weekend, which it just about did.

  It was the points that were the nightmare, currently six each per week, a total of twenty-four for the family, and then you had to choose what to use them on. But to make it more difficult, all was measured in pounds weight. It was easy enough when it came to things like rice or macaroni or dried fruit – not that Eva would buy the latter very often as just one pound used up sixteen points – but how much did a tin of soup or fruit weigh? At least a tin of baked beans weighed exactly a pound, so you didn’t feel as if you were being cheated. It counted as three points, and eked out between the four of them with a large baked spud each, it made a decent, filling meal. But they’d had it last night, and though they would doubtless have the same before the week was out, Eva didn’t feel it was right to have it two days running.

  As for meat, the system was so complicated that Eva had never entirely been able to fathom it, especially with the allowances changing all the time. Thank Gawd she had Old Willie to advise her. She trusted him implicitly, and although they mainly lived on offal and cheap cuts of meat, occasionally something more tasty came their way. Mind you, it was a mystery to Eva when Willie announced that she could have them! Whether or not he was involved in black marketeering, she didn’t know. But if he was – and it wouldn’t surprise her – she was happy to turn a blind eye if it meant a little variety on their plates.

  Oh, her poor brain needed a rest. Maybe she’d put the kettle on and make herself another cuppa with that morning’s leaves. She was getting too old for all these shenanigans just to keep their stomachs satisfied! But before she could stand up, Mildred waltzed into the room, pinning her uniform cap on her rebellious curls.

  ‘I’m off now, Mum,’ she startled Eva by interrupting her mum’s chain of thought. ‘By the looks of you, you’ll be in bed when I get home off me shift.’

  ‘Oh.’ Eva blinked her eyes wide. ‘You ain’t got time to look at the points coupons, have you? I can never make head nor tail of them.’

  ‘You’ve managed all these years!’ Mildred chuckled. ‘Best just go down the shops and see what’s there, first. And no, I ain’t got time, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, pity.’ Eva was crestfallen, but then her expression perked up as she said, ‘You’ve only got till Sunday on lates, ain’t you? And then you’ve got a few days off, so you can go and see Cissie. She don’t know no one round here, and I reckon she could do with a bit of cheering up. Mind you, she and Jake was chatting away last night,’ Eva finished with a knowing wink.

  ‘There you are, then. But I expect she’d rather some girlie company, so I don’t mind popping round. Might even persuade her to come out with me and me friends from the depot. But I must be off. Can’t be late. See you, Mum!’ And plonking a kiss on Eva’s curlers, Mildred flounced out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, the house shook as she slammed the front door closed behind her.

  Eva took a deep breath, letting her lips vibrate like the coalman’s horse as she let it out. She pushed the ration and points books away. She’d come back to them later. But for once in her life, she didn’t really fancy another cuppa. Her eyes wandered listlessly about the room and came to rest on the tumble of red, white and blue material she’d dumped on her old mum’s chair. Perhaps it’d be more fun to get on with her sewing.

  It was so confident that German surrender was imminent that, in anticipation of widespread victory celebrations, the government had announced that you wouldn’t need to use your clothes coupons in order to buy material to make bunting. Patriot that she was, Eva had been delighted when she’d been able to spend a few bob on half a yard each of the three different colours of coarse calico, plus several yards of tape. Now she gathered everything up and, sitting back down at the table, began to ply her needle. She wasn’t all that good at sewing, but it didn’t need to be very neat, and as long as it didn’t all actually fall apart, it didn’t matter. Bunting for a street party was hardly the same as a dress for the queen, after all.

  Eva edged a rough, single-turned hem about the edges of a blue triangle she’d cut out the previous day, using large, uneven stitches. Just to stop it fraying, she told herself. When she finished, she picked up another. Red this time, just for a change. But her mind was restless, butterflies starting to flap about in her stomach. This was all very well, preparing for vast celebrations, but what if it all went wrong? What if the war dragged on for weeks more? Months? What if Hitler managed to rally his forces and fight back? After all, you really didn’t know anything, did you? Just what you was told in the papers or on the wireless. And what if Mildred’s Gary got himself killed on the other side of the world as he fought on against the Japs?

  Eva put down the scarlet triangle and, leaning her elbows on the table, rested her chin in her hands. She was starting to feel old. Weary of the constant battle. The first of May, spring on the way, not that you’d think it from the weather. The war was supposed to be drawing to a close, and she should feel bright and expectant, but here she was, sitting on her tod, stitching soppy little bits of material. She needed company. She wouldn’t have any until Stan and Jake got in from work. She wasn’t even on WVS duty that week. They’d been told there’d be plenty to do as the troops came home, but if and when all was back to normal and presumably the WVS was disbanded, what then? She’d need something to keep her occupied, make her feel useful.

  She couldn’t wait for her Primrose to come home from living with Gert, but in the meantime, she supposed she could always get on a train and go and visit Gert or Kit. Yes, maybe she’d do that one day. But… Oh, how she still missed Nell, even after all these years. Her bosom pal. Dear Nell who’d lived at Number Twelve. Eva got on well with all her neighbours, but it had never been the same as her relationship with Nell. There was Ellen across the road at Number Three, for instance. A lovely woman of a similar age to herself, though apt to be a little more reserved. Eva could pop across to her now for a chat, but then she remembered that Ellen always went out early on a Tuesday afternoon to do her shopping before she collected Lily from school. And with all the queuing you expected to do, she’d probably gone out ages ago.

  Number Twelve. Of course. A grin spread across Eva’s face and she felt her short-lived depression lifting. Yes, she’d take herself and her sewing round to Bridie’s. It might not suit her new neighbours, of course, and she might have to come back, but it was worth a try.

  Grabbing her shopping basket, she stuffed all the sewing into it and made for the door. She’d need her coat, even if it was May. But as she stopped in the hallway to shrug into it, she remembered she still had her curlers in, as usual. In the old days, she’d have happily gone round to Nell’s with a scarf tied over them. Not that it hid the curlers properly. But perhaps she should make an effort, so she slipped back into the kitchen and took them out, roughly pulling a hairbrush through her frizzy mop. She glanced in the old mottled mirror over the mantelpiece. Her crowning glory was neither a crown nor glorious, but it would have to do.

  When she knocked on the front door of Number Twelve, she was pleased that it was Bridie who opened it. The stout Irishwoman’s face broke into a welcoming smile.

  ‘Eva!’ she cried in delight. ‘Won’t you be coming in? It’s as cold as the Galtee mountains in winter, so it is.’

  ‘Oh, ta,’ Eva answered as she stepped inside.

  ‘Come through to the back. I was just about to make up the babby’s feed, so I was. Can’t feed her myself. Having a babby at my age is one thing, but the go
od Lord made it so that I couldn’t feed her myself, so she’s on the bottle. You can give it to her if you like.’

  Pleasure sparkled in Eva’s heart. ‘Yeah, I’d love to, ta. Love babies, me. Me grandchildren are that much further away, so I don’t see so much of them. But I’m hoping Mildred’ll give me some and stay a bit nearer. And Jake, too, in his time.’

  ‘Does Mildred have a young man, then?’

  ‘Yeah, she has. Didn’t I mention it? In submarines in the Far East, so all this here talk of victory in Europe is blooming hard on her.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, the poor soul—’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice music.’ Eva hesitated by the closed door to the front room. Through it wafted the dulcet, lilting tones of an orchestra playing a beautiful waltz. ‘It’s classical, ain’t it?’

  ‘Sure, isn’t it Cissie practising her dance?’ Bridie explained. And then, oddly, she seemed to usher Eva swiftly past and into the kitchen. ‘A new gramophone and some records were the first things she saved up to replace after we were bombed out.’

  ‘Oh.’ For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom, Eva felt slightly awkward as Bridie closed the kitchen door behind them as if wanting to shut the music out. Eva gave a mental shrug. Oh, well, none of her business, she supposed, and turned her attention to the occupants of the room. Ron was sitting in his armchair, cradling baby Jane in what remained of his left arm, while crooning to her and tickling her tummy with his right hand to stop her crying while she waited for her bottle.

  ‘Hello, Eva.’ Ron looked up to greet her with a smile. ‘What can we do for you, or is it purely social?’

  ‘Hello – Mrs Parker,’ Zac slurred as he came in from the scullery. ‘Nice – to see you.’

  ‘You, too, ducks,’ Eva nodded. ‘And remember it’s Eva.’

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t – seem right.’