Blitz (6 page)

‘I didn’t think you’d like it,’ Jessie mumbled and Poppy said angrily, ‘What did you say?’

And this time Jessie shouted it. ‘I didn’t think you’d like it!’ and there was a ringing silence.

Poppy sighed then, a deep sucking in of breath that seemed to weaken her, for she stood there with her eyes closed, leaning against the table and trying to regain her composure. Then she said as steadily as she could, ‘Then it’s all starting again.’

‘How do you mean, starting again?’ Jessie began to bluster. ‘Who’s starting anything again? I told you, I wouldn’t do nothing you don’t like. You’re equal partners with me, and I wouldn’t never do nothing to upset you. But when my own son comes asking, and it seems harmless enough, what am I – ’

‘Harmless?’ Poppy opened her eyes and glared at her. ‘Since when were any of this – this – since when did he ever suggest anything that was harmless? Good for him maybe, but hell for everyone else around him. Every time – ’

‘Not this time,’ Bernie said smoothly and came and stood beside his mother. ‘Suppose instead of spouting off like some busted water main you listen for a few minutes, hey, Poppy?
Just listen and hear what I’m offering and what for.’

‘I told you, I’m not interested in any offer you have to make, now or ever,’ she flared. ‘After the sort of things you did in the past? Ye gods, when you were only sixteen you tried to embezzle money from your mother, and everything you’ve done since confirms what you are. A slippery liar at best, a downright crook at worst. You can double your offer of rent, it won’t make any difference – ’

He smiled, totally ignoring her taunts. ‘I won’t double it, but I could go up fifty per cent.’ He spoke with a fine judicious air. ‘Which, seeing it’s a perfectly reasonable bit of business and not particularly slippery, is as fair an offer as you’ll get anywhere. These are bad times, Poppy. Make the sunshine when you can!’

‘Poppy, at least listen!’ Jessie said pleadingly. ‘Do me a favour, dolly! Let him say what he has to say and if you still say no, then no it is. I can’t say fairer than that, can I? You understand, Bernie?’ And she turned and looked at her son, her face pouched with anxiety. ‘If Poppy don’t like it, then I don’t like it. But for God’s sake, the two of you, get this sorted out. I can’t go on like this, squeezed like some piece of stringy old salt beef in a sandwich –’ and she tried to laugh at her own weak joke and only managed to twist her face into a grimace and produce a half sob, half hiccup.

There was another little silence and then Poppy said, ‘All right. So what’s this deal you’re offering, Bernie?’

‘That’s better!’ he said and folded his arms, leaning against the table, and Poppy couldn’t help but notice how good he looked. He must be – she worked it out quickly – almost forty, and yet he looked as handsome as he ever had, with the lustrous dark eyes and the thick glossy hair, now gently sprinkled with a little white at the temples in a way that greatly added to his charms rather than detracting from them. The dimpled mouth looked as delectable as it ever had, and she felt again the stab of regret she so often had in the old days, that someone so beautiful could be so all round dreadful a person, evil, even; and she thought fleetingly of her stepdaughter Chloe and what he had done to her, and at once stopped seeing his beauty and was aware only of the need to be ever vigilant when considering anything he had to say.

‘It’s like this, Poppy.’ He smiled winningly. ‘Since I came
back I’ve been making a living as best I can, a little deal here, a little arrangement there, just the sort of things I could pick up. It wasn’t easy after all those years in the state pen in Maryland! I may not have a prison record here, but word gets around, you know? So I had to do the best for myself I could – ’

‘Get to the point, I haven’t all day.’ And she looked at her watch pointedly and was startled to see how late it was: almost five. She’d have to go soon, have to get over to the canteen. ‘Hurry up,’ she added harshly. ‘I have to leave.’

‘It’s all very simple. I’ve got a consignment of dried fruit coming in from America. I managed to get space on a merchantman on its way to Oslo – never mind how, but I can tell you it’s flying a Swedish flag and it cost me plenty to get my stuff on it – and I have to store it somewhere safe. Another of these bloody raids and my money could go up in smoke, my whole investment. And it’s a big one. All I want is to store it here in Mum’s – in your cellars so I can sell it later on – ’

‘Why not sell it now? There’s a market I imagine. You could get it out to shops fast and then you wouldn’t need storage.’

‘There’s too much for that. Anyway, I can’t get enough petrol just now to deal with distribution. And to be honest I’d like to hold on a bit. The price could get better.’

Her lips curled at that. ‘Hoarding food, Bernie? Where
do
you get your nice little ideas from, I wonder.’

He grinned unrepentantly. ‘So I want to get the best return on my investment I can! Is that such a crime? Listen, Poppy, it’s no big deal! Let me rent the cellars a few weeks – it’s all I want. I can let you have some of the stuff for your own use – ’

‘I don’t want anything from you!’ she said with blistering scorn.

‘But your canteen? Yes, I know about it. Mum told me. A few pounds of raisins’d come handy surely? I can even get you some eggs and a bit of sugar and butter. Then you can make all the poor little wardens and firefighters nice puddings – ’

She opened her mouth to refuse and then stopped, too disgusted to say all she would have wanted to.

‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘I want nothing black-market. I haven’t needed it to break the law yet, and I’m damned if I’m going to now, just for you.’

‘There’s nothing illegal about dried fruit, Poppy!’ Jessie said.
‘Is there? This I thought you could take and be glad of it. He said he won’t charge you – I mean, it’s hard to get these days! Sugar and butter I grant you, they’re rationed and I wouldn’t touch ’em either – but a bissel dried fruit and some eggs? Where’d the crime be there? It’s good business, dolly! – I want some for the kitchens, I can tell you. Make a deal already, Poppy – let’s make an arrangement and then we’ll all be happy – ’

It started slowly and far away as it usually did and all of them lifted their heads and then as it got louder and the sickeningly familiar swooning wail came closer Poppy said, ‘Oh, to hell with it. Do as you like, Jessie, I have to go – I promised to be back at the canteen by five and it’s nearly that now.’

And she turned and made for the door, grabbing her coat from the back of it and slinging it on as she went.

‘Poppy!’ Jessie shrieked and got awkwardly to her feet. ‘A raid’s started – don’t go out there – are you crazy? Come down to the cellar with me, Poppy!’

But she’d gone, leaving the door swinging behind her, and Jessie sat down again, her face a mask of fear and misery. And Bernie looked after her and smiled.

‘Well, that’s that then!’ he said with great satisfaction. ‘I’ll start shifting the stuff in first thing in the morning.’

‘If it doesn’t get bombed tonight,’ Jessie said. ‘Like my Poppy!’ and began to cry again.

‘Oh, it won’t,’ he said and stretched widely. ‘On account it’s not coming off a ship but from Birmingham. Got to tell Poppy the best sort of story, eh? Not to worry, Mum – just leave it all to me. And right now, let’s get down to the cellars – now we’ve got all this sorted out we don’t want to get ourselves killed, do we?’

The sirens were still wailing as Poppy emerged into the street, and went hurtling across it and into Backchurch Lane. She was calculating feverishly as she ran; there were usually a few minutes grace after the sirens went this far west. Most of the raids were centred on the docks, much further east, and though the planes came this far, often it took a few minutes for them to get here. If she managed to run fast enough, she’d be in the canteen basement in time to avoid being hurt.

And as she ran she prayed incoherently somewhere deep inside to the God she wasn’t even sure existed: Please let me get there safely, please let me not be killed and make sure my Robin’s safe and back at the hospital by now – and again she started working out how far the two girls had had to go, and whether they’d have reached their destination in time. And felt a little better, for they were long-legged healthy girls and anyway would have the sense to take shelter well in time to be safe, even if they hadn’t got as far along the Whitechapel Road as they needed to be.

She was still running, but her attention had slipped and in trying to dodge a hole that had been made in the pavement a few days earlier she swerved, caught the heel of her shoe on a piece of rubble and went sprawling, to lie there winded for a second or two, not quite sure what had happened.

Someone hauled her to her feet and dusted her down, scolding all the time in a croaky rumble.

‘Look at you, lady, just look at you, running around the streets and the sireen blowin’ off fit to bust itself! Come on now, into the shelter ’ere and no muckin’ about. We’ll get you safe, come on now, lady.’

She got to her feet awkwardly, very aware now that her knee hurt abominably. She looked at the torn silk stocking there and could have wept; she had only one more pair left and after that, heaven knew where she’d get a further supply.

‘I’m all right,’ she muttered and pulled away from the man’s restraining hand. ‘I’ve got to get to Plumber’s Row – don’t stop me – I’ve got to get there – ’

‘’Ere, if it isn’t Mrs Deveen!’ the voice said and for the first time she peered at the dusty face under the warden’s tin hat and said gratefully, ‘Arthur! What arc you doing here?’

‘My job, Mrs Deveen,’ he said promptly and shook her arm. ‘Which is to get the likes of you to safety. Now come on. We ain’t got more than a few seconds till they start chucking it all down.’

‘I’ve got to get to the canteen, Arthur – help me!’ she said and turned and began to run and after a moment he came thumping after her.

‘You won’t be no good if you gets there dead!’ he bawled. ‘And you will, yer go runnin’ around like that with no ’at on. ’Ere, take mine if you gotta go –’ and he caught up with her and took his tin hat off and thumped it on to her head. It smelled of hair oil and tobacco and she grabbed the brim as it slid around on her and held on, and gasped gratefully, ‘Bless you, Arthur! Will you be all right without it?’

‘I will,’ he said and stopped running to shout after her, ‘I got another at the Post. Run for it, you ’ear me? Run like the bleedin’ clappers!’

And she did.

Robin and Chick had nearly reached the hospital when the sirens began and Chick lifted her head and said in surprise. ‘But it’s not dark yet!’

‘Maybe not, but they’re still coming,’ Robin said grimly. ‘Here we go again! Do we shelter or run for it?’

Chick was craning at the sky. ‘Run for it,’ she said after a moment. ‘There’s nothing to see yet and I’ve heard no explosions. It’s only a few hundred yards or so now. Step it out, kid – ’

They hared along the Whitechapel Road, wheeling in and out of the other running people, and Chick, with her much longer legs, was well ahead by the time they reached the hospital
gates, and after one reassuring look behind her to make sure Robin was there, she disappeared through them, aiming for the entrance to the big shelter across the main courtyard.

Robin was pounding behind her, her breath coming rather short now and she looked down at the ground at her feet as she ran, afraid of tripping up, and then almost fell as she went charging into someone to one side of her and just regained her balance as a hand grabbed her elbow.

‘Hey, watch where you’re going,’ someone shouted and she caught her breath, startled, and looked to see what had happened, and saw a large battered perambulator laden with bundles and boxes, and pushing helplessly on the big curved handle a very dirty and bedraggled old man.

He was almost weeping, and his nose was running dispiritedly into his straggling whiskers as he pushed impotently on the pram. The person who had grabbed her elbow said then from behind her, ‘The wheel’s broken – leave it, you stupid old geezer’ – and Robin peered over her shoulder to see one of the hospital porters standing there.

‘You go on in, Nurse!’ he shouted at her and gave her a push and then began to run himself, and still the old man pushed on his pram and whimpered helplessly as it listed alarmingly and refused to budge.

‘Oh, do come on!’ Robin cried, for now the noise had begun. Somewhere ahead of them, away to the east, the all too familiar sounds of explosions came crumping through the summer air, and she knew it was only a matter of moments before they’d be overhead, those crawling ugly planes with their loads of bombs that came spiralling so lazily and deceptively out of the sky, and she pulled on the old man’s arm in an attempt to dislodge him and carry him to safety.

But still he stood there, stubbornly pushing at his unresponsive pram and wouldn’t let go, and Robin almost wept with fear for her own safety and the frustration of dealing with such mulishness. And she shouted furiously, ‘Will you come to the shelters, you stupid old man!’

And then suddenly there was someone else there, and she almost gawped as a large arm reached over her shoulder and hauled the pram upright and the old man managed to push it, and together the three of them began to run awkwardly towards the hospital gates. And when they got there the tall man behind
picked up the pram bodily and hauled it across the yard as he panted at Robin, ‘Get him inside, will you – I can manage this for him.’

And then they were all tumbling into the big shelter as the warden, shouting furiously, waved them in and then banged the door behind them, and they stood there in the dim light of the rows of oil lamps, gasping as they tried to catch their wind.

‘Oh, Robin!’ Chick was beside her then, all compunction and anxiety. ‘I thought you were right behind me! What happened?’

‘I –’ Robin began and then shook her head, still trying to get her breath.

‘Nurse Chester!’ A voice came out of the crowd, which had been making a fair amount of noise as it chattered, and it was unmistakeably that of Sister Marshall. ‘Come here and give me some help with the twins, will you? You’re the only one who can stop their shrieking –’ And indeed the noise of crying children was a strong obbligato to the overall sound, and Chick made a face and said hurriedly, ‘Are you okay, kid?’