Backstreet Child (57 page)

Lola kicked off her shoes and wiggled her stockinged feet at the flames. ‘Let’s wait till the war’s over,’ she told him.

The sound of coughing coming from the back bedroom startled them and they hurried to tend to Mary. Tony eased his mother upright while Lola dabbed at her red-flecked lips.

‘Yer gotta understand it’s quite probable yer mum won’t last the night out,’ she said quietly, trying to be kind. ‘All we can do is keep an eye on ’er.’

‘We?’ Tony queried. ‘There’s a full moon ternight. I should fink we’re gonna be in fer an air raid. Yer should get yerself off ter the shelter soon,’ he told her.

Lola shook her head. ‘I couldn’t leave ’er,’ she replied. ‘If there is a raid, I’ll take me chances ’ere. What’s ter be will be.’

Back in the parlour Tony drained his cup and reached for the teapot, feeling grateful that Lola had decided to stay. ‘I s’pose yer’ll be wantin’ anuvver cuppa now,’ he said smiling.

When they’d finished their tea Lola went out to the sink and rinsed out the two teacups and Tony sat watching her through the doorway. She was in her early forties, he guessed. She was dark in complexion and her large brown eyes were warm and friendly, in a round face that inclined to be chubby, with narrow lips and a dimpled chin. Her hips were large and she was full-busted, though her legs were slim and she had slender ankles. She must have been a beautiful woman in her youth, he thought. But the life she led had taken its toll. There were red patches on her face and her hair looked coarse and wispy. There were bulges under her eyes and her fingernails looked like they were constantly being bitten.

Lola dried the cups and set them down on the table. ‘I’ll go an’ take anuvver peep at yer mum,’ she said.

Tony leaned back in his chair and stared at the fire. The prospect of seeing Rachel again filled him with excitement and he thought about the few days they would spend together. It would be the last time for a lengthy period, he knew, though his regiment’s destination had not yet been divulged. The tanks and armoured cars had been getting a treatment of sand-coloured paint and camouflage, and the troops were being issued with tropical clothing. The strong rumour was that they were bound for North Africa, though one wag had said that it was a subterfuge and they were really going down to guard the south coast against an invasion. There was also speculation that the regiment was bound for India.

Lola came back into the room and sat down beside the fire, facing him. ‘She’s sleepin’ peacefully,’ she said.

Tony nodded, his eyes getting heavy as he stared into the fire. ‘Are yer sure yer feel all right about stoppin’ ’ere?’ he asked. ‘It could be an ’eavy raid wiv that full moon.’

Lola nodded her head, frowning at him. ‘I’m all right,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got a big man ter protect me.’ Tony blushed slightly and she smiled. ‘Yer mum told me about yer young lady,’ she said. ‘I understand it’s serious.’

‘Yeah, it is, but it’ll be some time before I get the chance ter see ’er after this leave,’ he replied. ‘We’re goin’ overseas very soon.’

‘D’yer know where?’ Lola asked.

Tony shook his head. ‘It might be the Middle East,’ he told her.

They were quiet for a while, each staring into the burning coals, and it was Lola who broke the silence. ‘D’yer fink yer young lady will wait fer yer?’ she asked suddenly.

Tony looked up, surprise showing on his open face. ‘Of course she will,’ he replied, sounding a little sharp.

Lola shrugged her shoulders. ‘Some don’t,’ she said. ‘But then that sort are not werf considerin’ in the first place,’ she added, seeing the concern on his face. ‘No, I’m sure yer young lady’ll stay true. She’s a lucky gel. If you were footloose an’ fancy free I’d be askin’ yer ter put yer shoes under my bed, an’ there’d be no charge.’

Tony laughed loudly, trying to hide his embarrassment, and just at that moment the air-raid siren sounded.

They got up and went out into the back bedroom, both concerned about the effect of the wail on the sick woman. As Tony leant over the bed, he could see that his mother had not heard it. Her breath was slow and shallow, and the pulse in her thin neck was steady but faint.

The two left the room and went back into the warm parlour, Lola wincing noticeably as the anti-aircraft guns opened up. For a while they sat without speaking, then as the first explosion sounded Lola pointed to the bedroom. ‘I fink we’d better sit wiv yer mum, Tony,’ she said.

The house shook and they heard the sound of breaking glass and the clatter of roof tiles falling on cobblestones. Plaster dust fell on the counterpane and Tony instinctively bent over his mother. She had still not woken up and he glanced at Lola.

‘She’s in a coma,’ she said quietly. ‘She won’t ’ear anyfing.’

The noise became louder and the house shook violently as a bomb fell nearby. Guns constantly roared out deafeningly and the crash of exploding bombs sounded every few seconds, but time seemed to be standing still in the room as the blitz raged angrily around them. Lola crossed herself as she looked up at the ceiling. ‘This is the worst one yet, by the sound of it,’ she said in a voice edged with fear.

Tony nodded, leaning forward over the sleeping form of his mother. Suddenly Mary jumped in her sleep and began to fidget. She started mumbling and her hands were moving as though trying to come up and cover her ears.

Lola touched Tony’s arm. ‘I fink yer should go fer the doctor, luv. I don’t fink it’ll be long now,’ she said quietly.

Tony looked at her anxiously. ‘Will yer be all right ’ere?’ he asked.

Lola nodded. ‘Go an’ fetch ’im, luv,’ she said.

Tony slipped on his coat and hurried out of the house. The street was as bright as day and the red glow of destruction in the sky reflected back down onto the grey cobblestones. Gunflashes and black smoke pouring towards the heavens reminded Tony of his time on the beaches at Dunkirk and his face was set firm as he hurried along towards the New Kent Road where the elderly Dr Kelly lived. He saw a large fire burning up ahead and a fire tender drove past as he hunched his shoulders and bent his head against the shrapnel.

At last he reached the doctor’s house sandwiched between two shuttered shops. His loud knock was answered by a grey-haired lady whom he recognised as the doctor’s wife.

‘It’s Mrs O’Reilly. She needs the doctor,’ he said breathlessly.

The woman nodded. ‘The doctor was expecting you,’ she told him. ‘He’s out on call. I’ll get him to come round as soon as possible.’

Tony thanked her and hurried back towards Ferris Street. Above in the angry night sky the moon seemed as serene as ever, as if it were smiling down on the scenes of carnage and destruction. When he turned the corner into Ferris Street, Tony suddenly gasped and started running. His house was ablaze. Smoke poured from the windows and he could hear the crackle of flames eating away at the inside. He stood back from the front door for an instant then charged forward, using his shoulder to barge in. As he broke in he fell over Lola who was lying beside the front door groaning. Smoke filled the passageway and he coughed loudly as he dragged her out into the street. He turned to go into the flames for his mother but suddenly the house was engulfed. The heat beat him back and he fell down on the pavement scorched and blackened.

Lola was stirring painfully, and as he crawled to her she rolled onto her side and her eyes flickered.

‘Yer mum died just as yer left,’ she managed to gasp out.

Tony looked down at her. She was badly burned; all the hair had been seared from her head and her face was blistered and swollen. She tugged on his arm and he bent over her, cradling her head in his arms. He could see there was nothing that could be done for her and he raised his eyes helplessly towards the smoke-filled sky as she tried desperately to speak.

She coughed suddenly and cried out in pain. ‘Tell Gloria,’ she muttered. ‘Tell Gloria she was right . . . ’E did . . .’

Her voice trailed off and Tony felt her go limp in his arms.

He was still cradling Lola’s head when Dr Kelly arrived in his ancient Vauxhall. He bent down over the still figure and took off his steel helmet as he made a brief examination, then he glanced at Tony, shaking his head.

The young man jerked his head towards the flaming house. ‘This lady was wiv me mum,’ he said. ‘She told me she died just as I left ter fetch yer.’

Old Dr Kelly brushed a hand over his snow-white hair and replaced his steel helmet. ‘That was a blessing, son,’ he replied quietly.

Tony nodded. ‘It must ’ave bin an incendiary bomb. I couldn’t get back in there fer ’er.’

Dr Kelly stared at the burning house. ‘Were your army clothes in there?’ he asked.

Tony nodded. ‘Me rifle an’ full pack as well,’ he replied.

‘Don’t worry, come and see me before your leave’s up. I’ll give you a letter to take back to camp with you,’ the doctor told him. ‘It should do. Now you’d better get off the street, it’s getting worse. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with everything,’ he added quietly, nodding towards Lola’s badly burned body.

Tony got up reluctantly and made his way to the nearby shelter, a brick-built, reinforced surface shelter that had been erected in a cul-de-sac off Ferris Street. In the covered doorway he saw a few faces he recognised among the men who were standing on guard, helpless as the fires raged and bombs fell. They were huddled together and one elderly man reached out towards him. ‘Are you all right, Tony boy?’ he asked with concern as he grabbed the young soldier’s arm and pulled him under the concrete canopy.

Tony gazed back out into the street. ‘The ’ouse is gone. I couldn’t get ter me muvver, the fire was too fierce,’ he replied.

The men all stared at him, not knowing what to say, and the elderly man looked down at his wet, sticky hand. ‘Yer bleedin’ son,’ he said.

Tony saw the large patch of blood on his coat sleeve and he realised it had come from Lola as he cradled her in the crook of his arm. ‘I’m all right,’ he replied.

‘I’m very sorry about yer muvver, son,’ the old man said. ‘She was a very nice lady. I knew ’er well.’

Tony gave him a brief smile. ‘She died before the fire started,’ he told him. ‘I would ’ave bin dead too if I ’adn’t gone fer the doctor. Me mum’s friend was wiv ’er at the time. She’s dead too.’

The old man shook his head sadly. ‘Poor Lola. She was very good ter yer muvver.’

‘Yer knew ’er then?’ Tony asked him.

The elderly man nodded. ‘We all did round ’ere. I can’t believe she’s gorn,’ he said miserably.

Lola’s last words came into Tony’s mind and he looked intently at the old man. ‘D’yer ’appen ter know who Gloria is?’ he asked.

A loud explosion shook the shelter and the men huddled down to escape the flying debris. The old man cursed aloud and dusted his coat with a gnarled hand. ‘Yer was askin’ me about a Gloria,’ he said.

Tony nodded. ‘Lola mumbled the name Gloria just before she died.’

‘I’m sorry but I don’t know anybody by that moniker,’ the old man said, scratching his bald head. ‘Any o’ you lads ’eard of a Gloria?’

The men all shook their heads. ‘Could be one o’ the street gels,’ one said.

Throughout the rest of the night, bombs continued to fall and many backstreets were hit and destroyed. Wharves, factories and warehouses burned out of control as the fire crews struggled to pump water from the middle of the river. The tide was at its lowest for years on that particular night. Medical staff worked tirelessly through the night as casualties filled the local hospitals; even the boiler room at one hospital was used to house the less severely injured patients.

As the dawn light filtered into the smoke-filled sky, Tony left the shelter and walked through the devastated streets. No buses or trams were running and everywhere he looked he saw grey-faced people standing around in a state of shock. The by now familiar smell of cordite and smouldering timbers filled the air, and as he made his way towards Rachel’s home in Salmon Lane, he shivered uncontrollably, although the morning was warm.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Page Street was deathly quiet as the bomb disposal team worked on the unexploded bomb in the Salters’ back yard. All the inhabitants of the little backstreet had been sent to a nearby rest centre and Maurice Salter found himself the centre of attraction.

‘Gawd, it must ’ave bin terrifyin’,’ Maisie remarked to him.

Maurice shrugged his shoulders. ‘I took a good look at it an’ I could see the nuts an’ bolts on the side of it,’ he replied. ‘So I put me ear to it ter find out if it was tickin’.’

‘Was it?’ Maisie asked, her eyes open wide.

‘Nah, there was a funny whirrin’ noise though,’ he told her. ‘I guessed it was the auto-gyro goin’ round so I decided I’d better sort it out.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, I made meself a cuppa an’ I thought about it while I was drinkin’ me tea.’

‘What then?’

‘I got me tools out to ’ave a go at it while yer were still in the shelter but I thought better of it. I wasn’t worried fer meself, yer understand, but it could ’ave done untold damage ter the street if it ’ad ’ave gone up.’

Maudie was equally eager to talk to Maurice. ‘I bet yer won’t be sleepin’ in yer own bed from now on,’ she said, thinking of what her husband had promised her.