by Tania Crosse
Mildred went straight to the ladies’ and afterwards washed off the grime from handling money and inky tickets all morning. Then she made her way purposefully to the canteen where dinner was being served. It had been a lifesaver during the war when food had been so scarce. And still was with supplies and food rationing not having improved as yet. She was grateful to sit down at the long table with a good plate of something resembling Lancashire hotpot and join her mates who were gradually coming off duty.
‘So, what d’you think of it, then?’ she demanded, spearing her fork into the stew. ‘I don’t want to give up me job if I can help it.’
‘Me, neither,’ Freda Green agreed, bobbing her head. ‘But if the government’s said we have ter, then we do.’
‘Well, I’m the same as Mrs Grainger,’ Iona Pauncefoot declared. ‘My husband’s been promised his job back at Head Office, and I’ll be quite happy not to have to work any more. My mother looks after the children, but she’s getting on and I think it’s a bit much for her.’
‘It’s all right for you if you’ve got a husband,’ Mildred frowned between mouthfuls. ‘’Specially if he’s got a good job to go back to. But it ain’t so good for those of us what ain’t. I mean, I can see the point of it for men what’s got families to provide for. But for those of us what still need a job, it ain’t really fair. Not till we’ve found something else, anyway.’
‘You gonna speak up fer us all then, Milly?’
Mildred drew in a deep, thoughtful breath and held it, closing her teeth over her bottom lip. She knew she could be outspoken when she wanted, but she wasn’t sure she could make any difference in this situation.
‘I could have a word with the union rep, I suppose,’ she answered, screwing her lips together. ‘I could at least suggest we could each get to say if we’d be happy to leave or not. That’d be some sort of reasonable compromise, I guess. But I’ll speak to Mr Grimwald first and see what he has to say.’
The group of women nodded their heads in agreement, and then got on with the business of eating. Mildred was still mulling the situation over in her mind when Freda dug her in the ribs.
‘There’s yer new driver,’ she whispered in Mildred’s ear. ‘Looks like he’s coming over. He can drive my bus any day! Bloody good-looking if you ask me.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Mildred snapped. ‘Probably already spoken for. And don’t look at him. Then he might go somewhere else.’
Mildred locked her gaze on her food, hoping and praying that Oscar Miles would get the message and go away. Her stomach rose in rebellion when he put his tray down on the table and sat down opposite her.
‘Do you mind if I join you, ladies?’
A bit late to ask, Mildred silently scoffed, and could have throttled Freda when she smiled up at him angelically and said, ‘No, course not.’
Oscar took a sip from his mug of tea and then picked up his knife and fork. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me for taking your friend’s job,’ he apologised, looking directly across at Mildred. ‘But it is my right, and I’m not the only one. There’ll be thousands of transport workers being demobbed who want their jobs back. And factory workers and all sorts.’
‘Yeah, but not driving my bus.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Miss Parker. But it’s really not my fault. I could ask Mr Grimwald to swap me to someone else’s crew if you object to me personally. But you’re likely to get teamed up with someone who’s been demobbed in the end.’
‘If I manage to keep me job,’ Mildred retorted acidly.
‘If you keep your job, yes. But look around. There’s already a few of us who’ve come back. Faces you won’t recognise. And there’s going to be a lot more.’
Oscar’s gaze swept about the canteen before coming to rest resolutely on Mildred’s face again, and somehow she felt compelled to stare back. His eyes were an arresting, uniform chestnut that seemed to bore steadily into hers with a deep intensity she couldn’t escape from. And, curiously, didn’t want to. But she wasn’t going to let him get the better of her just because he had nice eyes.
‘Well, I just hope you’re gonna tell me you need the job ’cos you’ve got a wife and kid to support,’ Mildred challenged him. ‘Otherwise it don’t seem fair to have got Bev thrown out.’
His eyes didn’t leave her face but darkened to a near black, and hard lines deepened about his mouth. ‘Don’t forget your friend volunteered to leave,’ he reminded her brusquely. ‘And for your information – not that it’s any of your business – no, I don’t have a wife, but I do have a frail mother and a younger sister to provide for. I hope that satisfies your criteria,’ he concluded tersely.
Mildred felt herself suitably reprimanded and knew that colour was flooding into her cheeks. But she wasn’t her big-hearted mother’s daughter for nothing. ‘Yeah, it does,’ she conceded, her voice softer. ‘But I’ll be fighting to keep me own job if someone tries to make us leave.’
‘That’s your prerogative, of course. And hopefully it won’t come to that and there’ll be enough jobs for everyone who wants one. But I hope we can work together OK in the meantime. However, I’m sure you’d rather enjoy your lunch with your friends, so I’ll leave you in peace.’
He went to pick up his tray, but before he could get to his feet, Freda piped up, ‘No, don’t mind us. Been a bit short of decent male company the last few years.’
Mildred tried to kick Freda gently under the table, but her foot only found air. Damn, she was going to have to put up with this la-di-da fop over dinner as well! She noticed, though, that Oscar Miles had the grace to blush slightly and hesitate for several seconds before he replied awkwardly.
‘Well, if you’re sure. The other men I see weren’t particular friends from when I worked here before the war. Those I was friends with, well, we were all conscripted in different directions and we lost touch.’ And then he lowered his eyes and muttered under his breath, ‘Of course, some of them won’t be coming back at all.’
He shot Mildred a dark glance before digging his fork into his portion of the stew, but that was as far as it got. He didn’t appear to have much appetite, pushing the scant cubes of meat about his plate without anything actually reaching his mouth. It made Mildred feel a prick of guilt, and since nobody else seemed to be able to think of anything to say, she felt obliged to do so herself.
‘Yeah, it’s hard, ain’t it? Me fiancé’s out in the Far East on subs. I ain’t heard from him in a while, so I’m hoping no news is good news.’
‘Well, I do hope he comes home safely,’ Oscar said, looking up. ‘Must be horrible for you. Seeing chaps like me coming home.’
There was a sharp edge to his voice, which wasn’t lost on Mildred. ‘Yeah, it is,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s still good to see people coming home in one piece, whoever they are. Suppose I’ve been lucky, only having one person to worry about. Me brother-in-law was wounded slightly and went back to fight in France, but he’s OK and must be coming home soon. Me older brother’s got an important job on the railways, so he was exempt. And me other brother’s only eighteen next weekend, so he was too young.’
‘You must’ve been pleased he was never called up, then.’
‘Yeah. But he was a firefighter. Unofficial, like. A runner for the brigade, but he helped put out fires and all. Wanted to be a fireman, but it’s the same blooming story. They don’t need so many firemen now the war’s over. He works at Price’s Candle Factory, but he don’t want to stay there. Don’t know what he’s gonna do, now.’
Mildred wasn’t sure why she was telling Oscar Miles, of all people, about her family, but it seemed to have put the conversation back on an even keel. The other women found their tongues again, especially Freda, whose eyelashes suddenly took on a life of their own.
When the meal was over, Oscar offered round a packet of cigarettes, and even Mildred deigned to accept.
‘Right, we’ve got ten minutes,’ Oscar announced, consulting his watch. ‘See you back on the bus, Miss Parker,’
he nodded at her, and made his way towards the gents’.
‘Cor, ain’t he gorgeous?’ Freda swooned at his departing broad shoulders.
‘A bit posh to be driving buses, though, don’t you think?’ Iona queried in her usual condescending way.
Yeah, he is, Mildred thought to herself. Bit of a mystery, Mr Oscar Miles. But what did it matter to her? She could maybe tolerate him as her driver, but that was about it, as far as she was concerned. She’d be pleased when the shift was over and she could go home and spend the rest of the afternoon with her mum.
*
‘See you tomorrow, then, bright and early, Miss Parker.’
Oscar gave a tentative half-smile as they clocked out. Mildred had to admit to herself that she really had no grounds to object to him personally, and her own lips curved at the corners in return.
‘Yeah. And you can call us Mildred if you want.’
She saw him raise a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Why not, if you’d allow me? And Oscar’s a lot less formal than Mr Miles. And I’ve answered to Sergeant Miles for such a long time that Mr Miles doesn’t sound right any more.’
‘Oscar it is, then. Not a name I’m used to, mind.’
She couldn’t believe it when his mouth broadened into a grin. ‘My father’s choice, I’m afraid, God rest his soul. Think yourself lucky having such a lovely down-to-earth name.’
‘Yeah. Me mum’s Evangeline, though, but she makes sure everyone calls her Eva.’
They stood for a moment, smiling at each other, before Mildred dragged herself away.
‘See you in the morning, then,’ she called over her shoulder.
But an instant later, Oscar had caught her up. ‘How do you get here if we’re running the first buses?’ he asked. ‘A pretty girl like you walking the streets when it’s so quiet…?’
‘Nah, got me bike,’ Mildred assured him with a chuckle. ‘Harder to catch, me.’
‘Ah, right. I’m pleased to hear it. Well, take care of yourself, then. I’m off to vote on my way home. I imagine you’re too young.’
Mildred at once snatched in her breath as the hairs on the back of her neck bristled with indignation. OK, she was too young to vote, but did she look like a child? Oscar Miles immediately went down in her estimation again. She could maybe put up with working with him, but she certainly didn’t want to be friends!
She strode off towards the bicycle rack, and didn’t look back.
Eighteen
Private Saul Williams hesitated on the corner of the London back street, nervous sweat seeping from every pore of his dark skin, despite the cool July afternoon. Was this the right place? It had been well over a year and so much had happened since. But he’d bet his last American dollar it was.
In his head, he’d retraced his steps on that night a million times. Normally he probably wouldn’t have been able to. It had been just one more darned evening to kill among the tension of manoeuvres down in what the British cutely called the West Country. Something big had been afoot, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that it was going to be the invasion of occupied France.
It was almost impossible to relax, nerves jangled as they’d awaited the order for the big push. So when the squad had been granted a seventy-two hour pass, some of them had decided to jump on the first train up to London. Maybe they’d find sufficient entertainment there to take their minds off what was in store. And for Saul and others of his race, it meant more freedom. Black GIs weren’t supposed to mix with the locals, but in the capital, nobody seemed to care.
That night back in May the previous year, Saul’s heart had sunk when Chuck Masters had announced he was coming with them. ‘Got to keep an eye on ya black bastards,’ he’d pretended to joke. But Saul knew he meant it. Except that it was more the other way round.
Chuck liked the ladies, and Saul knew he thought he’d have a better chance of a one-night stand in London than in the local towns and villages of Devonshire. The train had arrived in time for them to check in at a boarding house they’d been recommended before the pubs opened. As soon as they had, Chuck had started drinking heavily straight away, going from one pub to another on the hunt. As the evening wore on and he wasn’t having much luck picking up a willing girl, he’d become more and more drunk and abusive. He was unpopular with his squad, and the other soldiers had made themselves scarce. But Saul – God knew why – had stayed by him. God-fearing and teetotal, he supposed he must have wanted to keep Chuck out of trouble. Chuck might be Saul’s sergeant, but they hailed from the same small town in Alabama, and Saul supposed he must have felt some sort of responsibility towards him, even though it put him in such an awkward position.
By the time Chuck was almost legless and declaring that he wanted to find a brothel instead to satisfy his needs – Soho was the place, wasn’t it? – he was so drunk that Saul had been relieved when he’d persuaded him that they should return to the boarding house. He only managed to do so by suggesting they go straight to Soho the next evening. Quite what would happen then, Saul didn’t know. But he’d probably wash his hands of Chuck and go off with his fellow GIs instead.
But with what happened later that first evening, his relief had turned to guilt, a guilt that had consumed his every waking hour since. It had torn at his soul, so painful that he’d wished one of the bullets that had raked across the sand as they’d landed on the French beach code named Utah would blast into his chest and end his misery. It hadn’t. While many others fell, both he and Chuck Masters had fought on unscathed, liberating towns and villages until Hitler had been defeated.
Life meant nothing to Saul. He might have been floating through France on a cloud, so oblivious was he to any danger. The memory of that night in London had never left him. His own shame and horror at what had happened, at what he’d been helpless to prevent, had sharpened his perception, forming a crystal-clear record of events. And that was how he’d found his way back to the street Chuck had lurched into, drunk and brimming with alcohol-fuelled anger, despite Saul’s protestations and efforts to direct him back to the boarding house where they were staying.
Yes, he was sure this was it. The image he had formed in his head was exactly the same as the one that presented itself to him now. They’d been there in the blackout, of course. But a bright, three-quarter moon had drifted overhead, and though the sky had been banked with clouds, whenever they parted, the street had been bathed in silvery, liquid light. A few houses on the right, then a small park. And opposite was the bomb site, still waiting to be cleared. The bomb site where…
Jeez. The bile rose into his throat, and he had to take a determined hold on himself. What the hell was he doing here, in this place that filled him with self-disgust? But something had compelled him to come. Exactly what, he couldn’t say. But deep in his gut, he knew it was the right thing to do. He could never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to make amends. Though he knew it simply wasn’t something you could ever make amends for.
Some boys were playing among the rubble of the bomb site, digging for any trophy, a piece of shrapnel, some lost remnant of the lives of the people who’d once lived there, since it looked to Saul as if it had been a residential street. He picked his way over the debris, his heart thumping as he relived those dreadful moments.
‘Hey, guys, can ya help me, please?’
The boys, five of them, looked round at his voice. Their eyes widened at the sight of a black American in the familiar GI uniform. It wasn’t something they’d seen around here too often, though, and Saul cursed the colour of his skin. He hadn’t wanted to draw attention to himself. That was why he’d chosen today to come. Election Day. He’d hoped everyone would be too distracted by voting fever to take much notice of some Yank making enquiries. But he’d been wrong. Generally speaking, the British didn’t hold the same prejudices as many Americans still did – particularly in southern states such as his own. But he realised with unease that he stood out like a sore thumb. Nothing was going to put him off, though.
/> ‘Yeah, what d’yer want?’ demanded one of the boys, possibly the ringleader, Saul thought, by the way he swaggered forward. He reminded Saul of Chuck, and it made him shudder. ‘It’ll cost yer.’
Saul’s full lips broke into a forced smile, revealing teeth that seemed to gleam like tombstones. ‘What d’ya prefer? Chocolate bars or candy? Or maybe gum?’ He reached into the ample pockets of his uniform to retrieve a few of each but swiftly held them on high as the boy tried to snatch them from his hands. ‘Ya answer my question first. I’m looking for a girl—’
‘Oh, yeah?’ the boy sneered, glancing at his mates, who sniggered behind their hands.
But Saul was determined not to be intimidated. ‘Yup, a girl. About eighteen or nineteen. Only so high, very small build. Moves very gracefully. Yeah, that’s what I remember most about her.’ Saul frowned to himself, trawling his memory. The moonlight shafting across her face. ‘Long neck, long, dark hair. Pretty face. Lives around here some place. Walks home on her own late at night.’ But what he couldn’t say, what would have seared into his tongue, was the word for what had been done to her.
The boy in front of him now pulled a face. ‘Yer know some girl like that?’ he leered lopsidedly over his shoulder at his mates. But he was answered by a chorus of shaking heads. ‘There. D’we get our payment now?’
Saul sighed and brought down his hands to offer up the sweets. He doubted these kids would’ve told him even if they’d had any ideas as to who the girl could be. It was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but he was driven by some inner compulsion to push on.
Presumably the girl had been on her way home at that late hour, and Saul remembered which direction she’d been heading in before Chuck had started chasing her. Saul walked down the street to where three houses still stood at the far side of the bomb site. The first one was clearly unoccupied and possibly bomb-damaged by its half-destroyed neighbour. Saul didn’t get an answer to his knock on the next door, and at the last one, an elderly man shook his head in reply to Saul’s question.