‘Oh, Archie,’ she sobbed.
‘Hush, hush,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘It’s done.’
‘I know,’ she said, as she freed herself from his arms and retrieved a handkerchief from her handbag.
‘I bet I look a mess,’ she said, wiping under her eyes carefully so as not to smudge her mascara.
Archie kissed her forehead. ‘You’ve never looked better. Now, woman, will you at last tell me what you’ve not been telling me this last week.’
Enjoying the feel of his arms around her, Cathy looked up into his mesmerising ice-blue eyes and smiled.
‘Well, first off, Archie McIntosh, I think you ought to know that I’ve thrown up down the toilet each morning for the past week.’
Chapter Thirty-three
SLIDING THE PAGE he’d just read behind the next, Archie reread the letter from his mother that Cathy had brought to hospital the day before.
She’d given it to him along with another one that had arrived on the day of the accident. As well as all the usual news and an update on Kirsty, his mother had said that she guessed he was busy as she hadn’t heard from him. He usually wrote a couple of times a week and phoned when he could, so he knew that after a week of silence she would be worried.
Promising himself he would ring her later, Archie continued reading, but as he got halfway down the page, Chalky strolled through the door into the side room.
‘Here he is, Mogg,’ said the corporal, ‘skiving as always.’
‘Me, skiving?’ said Archie, putting aside the letter and rising to his feet. He shook his corporal’s hand. ‘Shouldn’t you two be digging up a bomb somewhere?’
‘Just taken some equipment to another team in Shoreditch, so we thought we’d drop by and annoy you for ten minutes,’ said Mogg as he joined them. ‘That pretty redheaded nurse making the bed said it would be all right.’
‘Well, it’s good to see you both,’ said Archie.
‘And the boys ’ad a whip-round and bought you these.’ Lowering his kit bag to the floor, Chalky opened it. Pulling out four bottles of Guinness, he put them on the side locker.
‘Thanks.’ Archie smiled. ‘I’m touched.’
‘See,’ said Mogg, tapping the side of his head with his index finger. ‘I always told you he was.’
Archie gave them a long-suffering look and resumed his seat as the two men pulled the upright visitors’ chairs forward.
‘To be honest, we thought they might have already kicked you out,’ said Chalky, sitting astride his chair with his elbows on the backrest.
‘They have,’ Archie replied, indicating his packed haversack in the corner. ‘Doc came around ten minutes ago and gave me the all-clear. I’m just waiting for Cathy to arrive. I told her she didnae have to fetch me but she said she wanted to.’
‘It’s always a good idea to do what the little woman says,’ said Chalky.
Mogg picked up the pair of dark glasses on the side locker. ‘These yours?’
‘Aye,’ Archie replied. ‘I have to wear them for the next week or so whenever I go outside.’
‘When will you be back?’ asked Chalky.
‘The specialist from Moorfields wants to see me in two weeks,’ Archie replied. ‘So I expect he’ll sign me fit then. Do you think you can manage not to get yourselves into trouble until then?’
‘Probably not,’ Chalky replied, looking hard at the squaddie sitting alongside him.
Mogg looked indignant. ‘I was just looking through the window for the other blooming tail fin, so how was I to know that woman was having a strip wash at the kitchen sink?’
Archie laughed.
‘Seriously, mate, you gave us a right scare,’ Chalky said.
‘No more than I gave myself,’ Archie replied. ‘I can’t tell—’
The terror of being imprisoned in utter darkness rose up again, but Archie cut it short and shifted his mind on to the new little McIntosh who would be joining them just before Christmas.
‘Still,’ said Chalky, cutting across his fatherly thoughts, ‘at least you’ll have some free time to paint while you’re off.’
‘That I will,’ he replied. ‘But I imagine I’ll be spending a good few days looking for another house for the family.’
The corporal looked puzzled. ‘I thought you’d found somewhere near Stepney Green station.’
‘We did, and it was perfect, but because of everything that’s happened it will have gone by now,’ Archie said.
‘Pity,’ said Mogg. ‘Decent accommodation’s like blooming hen’s teeth.’
‘Aye, it is, and more’s the pity, because I was planning to bring Kirsty and Ma down this week and now it’ll be more like Whitsun before I can.’
Frustration niggled but Archie damped it down, reminding himself that at least when they did get to London, he’d be able to see them standing before him.
‘Anyhow,’ he said, pushing the setback aside, ‘what else’s been going on?’
‘Well, firstly,’ said Chalky, pulling a copy of the East London Advertiser from his jacket and placing it on the hospital’s blue counterpane, ‘you’re officially a blooming hero.’
Archie opened the newspaper and saw the picture of himself, cropped from the squad’s photo the previous summer, and above it was the headline ‘The Hero of Shadwell’.
He read down the page, which told how he, Sergeant Archibald McIntosh, at great personal risk to life and limb, had saved twenty-six children and nine nurses from being blown to smithereens.
‘You’ll be needing those blooming dark goggles,’ said Mogg, ‘to avoid being mobbed by admirers when you walk down the street.’
‘There’s even muttering in the CO’s office about a George Cross coming your way,’ added Chalky.
Archie skimmed through the article again then looked up. ‘There’s no mention of Monkman.’
‘I guess the reporter thought it would be bad for morale if they had a picture of men in white coats escorting the lieutenant away in a straitjacket,’ said Chalky. ‘Well, perhaps not an actual straitjacket,’ he continued, seeing Archie’s shocked expression, ‘but he was a blubbering wreck by the time we got him out.’
‘He’s gone, then,’ said Archie, putting the newspaper back on the bed.
‘Gone, and good riddance,’ said Mogg.
‘It was all hush-hush, like, from the top brass,’ said Chalky. ‘Put it around he’s gone for some R&R, but the world and his wife know he’s been sent to an asylum.’
‘I wonder who HQ will send to replace him?’ said Mogg.
‘By rights, seeing as how he knows more about dismantling German fuses than half of the top brass, it ought to be Archie-boy here,’ said Chalky.
‘Well, I thank you for your vote of confidence,’ said Archie, ‘but I doubt there’s many with pips on their shoulder in Whitehall who look like me.’
A flash of red caught Archie’s eye and he turned to see Cathy, illuminated in the spring sunshine as she stood in the doorway with Peter, also in his Sunday best, by her side.
The red that had caught his attention was the cropped Rose madder jacket that she wore over a flowery dress. Her golden-brown hair was loose under her perky summer hat and fell in bouncy curls on her shoulders.
He stood up and so did Chalky and Mogg.
Cathy’s gaze fixed on him, and Archie’s world came together like the perfect combination of tones and hues on a masterpiece.
‘Morning,’ she said.
‘Morning, Mrs Wheeler,’ they said in unison.
Spotting Archie, Peter slipped out of his mother’s grip and dashed towards him.
‘Arrie,’ the little lad said as he hugged Archie’s knee.
‘Hello there, pal,’ he said, scooping the little boy into his arms. ‘I hope you’ve been a good boy for your ma while I’ve been away.’
‘He’s been very good,’ said Cathy, smiling as she walked across to join them.
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said Archie. ‘It’s never too early to
get into Father Christmas’s good books.’
‘Well then,’ said Chalky, retrieving his kitbag from the floor and slinging it over his shoulder, ‘we’d best be about our business. And, Mrs Wheeler, see if you can keep this great loon in one piece so he can come back and make sure D Squad do the same.’
Cathy laughed. ‘I’ll try, Corporal, but I can’t promise.’
‘I’ll be seeing you, lads,’ said Archie, putting his free arm around Cathy. ‘And from now on, it’s Mrs McIntosh.’
The two squaddies gave him a casual salute and left.
Cathy turned, and with her eyes filled with love, she stretched up on tiptoes and kissed him briefly, then the smile that had captured his heart spread across her face. ‘Let’s go home, Archie.’
Five minutes later, having gathered his kit together, thanked the nurses and put on his protective glasses, Archie, carrying Peter and with Cathy on his arm, strolled out of the hospital’s main entrance.
However, as he reached the bottom of the hospital’s wide Portland stone steps, Archie stopped.
Gazing through his sepia-tinted glasses, he scanned the clear blue sky above him and then looked across to the crowd of people bustling through the market opposite.
He took a deep breath to still the emotions gathering in his chest.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Cathy.
Archie shifted his attention down to the woman who was, and always would be, standing beside him.
‘I am,’ he said. ‘And thankful. Very thankful.’
She smiled that lovely smile of hers. ‘Me too.’
They gazed at each other for a moment then Peter started wriggling.
Putting the little boy on the pavement, Archie adjusted his kitbag strap across him. His gaze ran along the dozen or so prams parked under the rain shelter to the right of the door.
‘Where’s the pushchair?’
‘I didn’t bring it as Dad dropped me off,’ she replied.
‘Well, it’s nae far; Peter can perch on my shoulders,’ he said.
He went to lift the boy up again, but Cathy caught his arm.
‘There’s no need, Archie,’ she said, with barely concealed excitement brimming out of her lovely eyes. ‘Because we’re catching the bus.’
Half an hour after leaving the hospital, and with his arm stretched along the seat behind Cathy, Archie roared.
‘I can’t believe you did that,’ he laughed, as the bus whizzed past the almshouses on Mile End Road.
‘It wasn’t just me, but Dad and the boys, too,’ Cathy said, shifting Peter on her knee. ‘It took them the best part of the day to load all her junk on the lorry.’
After leaving the hospital, as they waited for a bus on the Whitechapel Road, Cathy had told him about Violet stealing his nude sketch of her and the meeting at the WVS. She’d also explained how she’d secured the house they’d wanted to rent by borrowing the money from her sister.
And when they’d finally boarded a number 25 a quarter of an hour later and settled themselves in one of the downstairs seats, Cathy had revealed, in hushed tones, how Violet had discovered that Stan was a signed-up member of Hitler’s British Free Corps, not a POW. Now, as they reached the end of their journey, she’d been running through how she’d cleared the house in Senrab Street before handing back the keys.
‘But dumping the lot on the pavement outside her sister’s house,’ chuckled Archie, pushing the dark glasses back up his nose.
Cathy shrugged. ‘She ought to be thankful I didn’t just leave it in the house.’
‘I wish I’d seen her face,’ said Archie, thinking that retribution for the spiteful old woman’s behaviour was long overdue.
‘So do I. It was a real picture. But as she was forever going on about her expensive furniture and pictures, I thought she might like to have them. Mind you . . .’ A mischievous smile lifted Cathy’s full lips. ‘I didn’t let Violet have everything.’
Amusement flickered in Archie’s ice-blue eyes. ‘You kept the fridge.’
‘I certainly did,’ said Cathy as the bus slowed down at a stop. ‘And the cooker and the linen, plus the washing tub and everything in the kitchen, Peter’s bed and the front-room furniture.’
Archie smiled. Hugging her to him, he pressed his lips on her hair.
‘Do you think your father will be able to get another couple of beds so I can tell Ma to bring Kirsty down next week?’ he asked.
‘I’m sure he’ll try,’ she replied. ‘What day were you thinking?’
‘Perhaps Wednesday or Thursday?’
Amusement sparked in Cathy’s eyes. ‘I can’t wait to meet them.’
Archie was just wondering what he’d said that was so entertaining when he caught sight of the municipal washhouse and Stepney Green station through his sepia-tinted lenses.
Rising from his seat, he reached up and yanked on the bell-pull that stretched the length of the bus.
Lifting his kitbag from the floor, his slung it across him again then held out his hand.
‘This is our stop, lad.’
Peter hopped off his mother’s lap and took Archie’s hand.
The bus drew to a stop outside the Farmer’s Arms. Archie guided Peter between the passengers on the bench seats towards the platform at the back of the bus, then scooping the little boy in his arms, he stepped off.
‘Be careful now,’ he said, offering his free hand to Cathy.
She gave him an exasperated look. ‘I have got off a bus before, Archie.’
‘Aye, you have,’ he replied, as the bus pulled away. ‘But I nae want you taking a tumble in your condition, woman.’
Archie set Peter on his feet. As he did so, he caught sight of the red telephone box next to the station’s entrance.
‘Perhaps I should telephone Ma,’ he said, thinking of her two letters tucked in his inside pocket.
Cathy looped her arm in his. ‘Why don’t you have a cuppa first?’
‘It’ll only take a moment,’ Archie replied, his fingers sifting through the loose change in his trouser pocket.
‘I know, but . . . I need to spend a penny.’ Cathy smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry.’
‘All right,’ Archie replied. ‘I suppose thirty minutes won’t harm one way or another.’
Archie took one of Peter’s hands while Cathy took the other and they headed towards their new home.
Ten minutes later they were standing on the front step of number seventy-two Alderney Road.
Stepping forward, Cathy grabbed the iron ring of the lion’s-head knocker and rapped on the door.
Archie gave her a curious look.
‘It’s an old Irish custom.’ Delving into her pocket, Cathy pulled out a key with an enamel Mackeson keyring attached and offered it to him. ‘You go first.’
Letting go of Peter’s hand, Archie took the key.
He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and stopped dead.
Time seemed to stand still for a moment as he stared at his mother, wearing her best dress, and his daughter, all pigtails and freckles in her school uniform, before they rushed towards him.
‘Da,’ screamed Kirsty, throwing herself into his arms.
Dropping his kitbag on the floor, Archie’s arms closed around her. Lifting her off her feet, he hugged her tightly to him. Almost overwhelmed with joy, Archie savoured the feel of her in his arms after so long. Then a hand rested on his upper arm, and he looked up to see his mother’s grey eyes.
Putting Kirsty down, he reached out and drew his mother into the family embrace. They hugged for a moment longer, then Archie lifted his head.
‘But how are you both here?’ he asked, still finding it hard to believe they were standing before him.
His mother’s face lifted in a soft smile, then she turned and glanced down the hall.
‘You’ve got your bonny lass to thank for that, son,’ Aggie said.
Raising his eyes, Archie looked over his mother’s head at Cathy, who was still standing in the doorway.
&n
bsp; ‘Well, you did say you wanted us all to be together for Easter,’ she said, looking justifiably pleased with herself. ‘So now we are.’
‘She telephoned yesterday so Kirsty and I caught the mail train from Glasgow Central yesterday evening,’ his mother explained. She pulled a face. ‘An experience ma old back is in no hurry to repeat, I might add. Cathy and her father kindly collected us from Euston just after six and brought us here. And . . .’ She whacked his arm.
‘What’s that for?’ asked Archie.
‘For no letting her telephone me sooner,’ his mother replied.
As she watched Archie’s joyful reunion with his mother and daughter, weariness washed over Cathy. She wasn’t surprised, for she had spent the past week between hospital visits washing down cupboards, scrubbing floors, polishing windows and hanging curtains. Thankfully, Jo and Mattie had rolled up their sleeves and pitched in, as had her father, who’d found not only beds for Kirsty and Aggie, but wardrobes and dressing tables. He’d also brought the Morrison shelter from the old house and, with the help of her two brothers and Jo’s husband Tommy, manhandled it down into the basement. At the end of each day of rushing around after her son and trying to set up a home, Cathy had collapsed exhausted in it alongside Peter. However, last night, for the first time since Corporal White had turned up on her doorstep a week ago, and despite an air raid going on above, Cathy had slept the whole night through. In fact, she was only just up and ready when her father had called for them at six.
And to be honest, as she’d waited for Archie’s mother and daughter to emerge out of the billowing steam on the platform, Cathy’s heart had been in her throat. In contrast to her towering son, Archie’s mother was a few inches shorter than Cathy, and probably a size smaller than Cathy’s size twelve.
The girl walking alongside her down the platform and wearing a green school uniform was unmistakably Archie’s daughter. And not just because of her milky-coffee-coloured skin. She had her father’s height, and although her hair was tied back in two long plaits it was the same rich brown. Her eyes, too, were Archie’s, and she would be a beauty when she was grown.
Mrs McIntosh was carrying a suitcase while the young girl beside her had her satchel over her shoulder and clutched a small weekend case. They had stood looking along the platform at each other for a moment and then, just when Cathy thought her heart was about to burst from her chest, Archie’s mother had smiled.
A Ration Book Daughter Page 38