Lover (36 page)

Then the space widened out into something like a small cave. The ceiling wasn't any higher, and I couldn't have turned round, but at least there was a bit more room. There were a few planks standing upright at the end, with gaps like a badly made fence, and when I crawled forward and shone the torch through, there she was. At first I couldn't tell which end was which, because the small beam didn't illuminate the whole of her body and she was buff-coloured from dust and seemed, in a strange way, to have merged with the other rubble, but then I realised she was curled up on her side with her face pressed into the ground. She didn't seem to be breathing, and I thought
: I'm too late, she's dead
.

I heard a slight scratching noise and sensed a movement just out of the range of my torch beam—my first thought was, it can't be a rat, not already, and for one awful moment I thought I was going to be sick. I moved the torch over to see, and saw a slight movement of her head towards me, and one eye begin to open, and I realised I couldn't remember her name, and, worse, I couldn't think of anything to say. Something came out—I'm sure it was perfectly idiotic, but the woman muttered something in return, so I thought, well, at least she can hear me. I dug the tablet out of my pocket, found a gap just wide enough for my hand and wrist to fit through without disturbing anything, and asked if she would take it.

When she put out her hand, she turned her head to face me, and for a moment, with her eyes closed, and the plaster-white face and hair matted with dust, she looked like a corpse, and I almost pulled my hand away—but when she opened her eyes, there was something so…I don't know…human? The human spirit, I suppose. If I was given to flights of fancy, I'd say I was seeing her soul.

She wanted me to hold her hand, so I did, and we stayed like that until they called to me to come out. I just listened, mostly. She told me that she had a son, Tommy—she was rambling, and I don't think she knew what she was saying half the time. I certainly don't think she meant to tell me about her son, because afterwards she said he was her sister's boy, and seemed so worried about my knowing that I had to lie and tell her I'd misunderstood.

Tate, her name was. Rene Tate. About halfway through, I suddenly realised who she was: the prostitute from the shelter. Then she told me there was a body down there: the woman whose flat it was. I thought afterwards: if I'd known both—or even one—of those things, would I have gone? It wasn't a comfortable moment. I'd like to say the answer was absolutely yes, but I can't put my hand on my heart and swear it, which is awful. All I can say is, I'm jolly glad I did go because it was the right thing to do, and I'm glad I met Rene, because let's be honest, in normal circumstances I'd never meet anyone like that, let alone have a conversation. I mean, she didn't tell me she was… you know…what she
does
…but with the child and everything… It only goes to show, the ideas one gets about certain people aren't always right, because she seemed just like anybody else. Rather common in her speech, of course—that's the snob in me coming out, I'm afraid—but perfectly nice, and none of that really mattered. Lying there like that, we were just two women, and I don't think I've ever felt so close to anyone in my life. I don't mean close in the way that I'm close to Minnie or Dad, or even Mums, but that I've never had such a strong feeling of shared humanity. There was no difference between us: I could have been her, and she me, because the life force that was inside us both was the same. And if that tunnel had fallen in, it would have been extinguished and we'd just have been two bodies, wouldn't we? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—no difference at all.

Rene'd called me an angel, and I thought afterwards, you'd never have said that if you knew what I was really like! But it made me think of Tom being my angel, because that's how it ought to be, everyone helping everyone else, and it shouldn't matter who they are or what they do. It's sad, really, that it should take a war to bring out those qualities in people, like Mums going to Mrs Dorn when she had the baby, even though she's so frightened of the bombs. It doesn't say much for the human race as a whole, that it takes something so dreadful. But it's taught me a lesson about judging people, at any rate. It was like the business afterwards with the air raid warden, when they'd brought Rene out and I'd taken her down to the shelter. That was
very
strange.

When I came out Mrs L and the men said how sporting I was to do it, and lots of other nice things that left me blushing like fury. But later on, a warden who hadn't been there before came up to the van and said, ‘Excuse me, miss, are you the one who went down to Miss Tate?'

When I said I was, he said, ‘I'm Harry. Harry Nolan.'

‘Oh. We've met before, haven't we?'

He smiled. ‘I rather think we have, miss. They told me what you did tonight and I wanted to say thank you.' He stuck his hand through the hatch for me to shake. ‘May I ask your name?'

‘Armitage. Lucy.'

‘Well, Miss Armitage, what you did…bless you for that.'

It struck me as strange, because he didn't sound like an official at all, more like a relative or… I suddenly found myself wondering, again, if he was…you know…a
customer
of Rene's, and I couldn't look him in the eye at all.

He said, ‘I don't suppose…well, you wouldn't happen to know where she's gone, would you? The nurse here said she wouldn't go to the first aid post.'

‘No, that's right. She's at the shelter. The one at the other end.' I leaned over and pointed. ‘At least, that's where I took her. She wanted to see her sister, because her brother-in-law died, you see. He was in there, too.'

‘Oh, I see. That's dreadful. But Rene…Miss Tate…she wasn't hurt, was she?'

‘More shocked, I think. She'd been down there for some time, you know, but she was terribly brave about it.'

‘Oh, she would be, miss. And so were you. There's not many would do it.'

‘Oh, anyone would. I was the only one that could fit, that's all.'

‘Well, bless you for it. I can't thank you enough.' And he shook my hand again, and hurried off down Wild Street.

I kept puzzling over it afterwards. You could tell from his eyes and the way he spoke that he really cared about Rene, but she hadn't mentioned a brother, only her sister, and anyway, he didn't look anything like her. But you know who he reminded me of? This is going to sound very odd, given what I've said, but he made me think of Dad. Not the way he looked, because Dad's thin and beaky, and Mr Nolan's big and broad and looks like he might have been a boxer once, but the way he was. Decent. You could trust him, I thought. Although how one can pick these things up from less than five minutes' conversation, I don't know. But that's what made me think he couldn't be one of Rene's men-friends, because I know Dad would never do anything like that.

But what a lot I shall have to tell Minnie and Mums! Have decided I will tell Mums—she seems a changed person after the business over Mrs Dorn and the baby. She was singing along to the wireless last night, and that's something she hasn't done for
weeks
. She must have told the neighbours about Minnie and I wearing the saucepans on our heads, too, because this morning when I was on my way to work, Mrs Milne called out, ‘Where's your tin hat?' I told her Mums was making breakfast in it! But that's good, because it means Mums must be going out and about again. I'm not going to tell them what Rene
does
, though. They'd be horrified.

The only cloud on the horizon was that I discovered, after a couple of hours' much-needed sleep on a camp bed at the centre, that Tom's cigarette card is no longer in my handbag. I'm pretty sure I had it with me this morning, and I've tipped the bag up and turned everything out, but it isn't there. It can't have been in the van, or we'd have noticed it when we were tidying up. I suppose it could have fallen out when I gave Rene the handkerchief, but I'm sure I would have noticed. If it did fall out in Wild Street I don't suppose I'll ever find it again because the place is such a mess, and in any case, it's probably been roped off by now.

As I walk back to the station, I'm hoping against hope that I did leave the card under my pillow, after all: must check as soon as I get home. I don't know what I shall do if it is lost: I hate the thought of lying to Tom, but the truth would be too awful. However, I shan't put it in the letter, and I needn't bring it up unless he asks, which I don't think he will. I got the feeling it was rather a shock for him to see the brooch again, like a reminder of something he'd rather forget. He certainly didn't want it back, and I think it'll be the same with the card. It's rather odd, now I come to think of it: it's as if he's been entrusting his memories to me because they're too painful for him to keep himself.

That, combined with a perfectly horrible smell of sewage from somewhere near the river, rather takes the edge off my feeling of satisfaction at a job well done, but one can't have everything. At least I've got the brooch safe.

I
was pretty groggy when I came round. First thing that happened was I tried to sit up, but hit something, and for a horrible moment I thought I was still trapped underground. Then I realised I was on a lower bunk and I'd thumped my head on the bottom of the one above it. Then I saw a pair of big yellow eyes staring at me, and it was a black cat, sitting at the end of my bed. There was a lot of shouting in the background—a ring of women, all yelling at once, with this little ratty-looking warden in the middle, trying to reason with them.

‘You can't turn the poor beast out in this!'

‘The rules state—'

‘Bugger the rules! That's Mrs Everley's cat, and you're not throwing it out!'

‘I'm sorry, but animals aren't—'

‘You lay one finger on that cat, and you'll have us to deal with!'

I got off the bed and tottered towards them, then tapped one of the women on the shoulder and pointed at the cat. ‘Is that George?'

‘Yes, that's right. This bastard wants it out.'

‘Mrs Everley's dead.'

‘Yes love, I know. Here…' She looked down at my tattered skirt. ‘Were you the one with her?'

‘Yes.'

‘Blimey, dear, you didn't ought to be standing up, not after that. Come on.' She led me back to the bunk, helped me lie down, and covered me with a blanket.

‘Have you seen my sister?'

‘Who's that, then?'

‘Nicholls. Dora Nicholls.'

‘Oh, yes. Down the other end, poor woman. You heard about Joe?'

‘Yes, I know… I told her.'

‘Dreadful business. Dora's having a lie-down. Best not to disturb her, I think.'

‘Where's Tommy?'

‘Oh, he's being looked after, don't worry.'

‘All her things…'

‘I don't know, about that, dear, but she'll be lucky… Looters everywhere. You hear these stories, don't you? No respect for other people's property any more, though from what I've heard, there wasn't a whole lot left to pinch.'

‘No, there wasn't.'

‘She'll have to go to the Assistance Board, tomorrow. They'll sort it out.'

‘The cat…it's expecting—Mrs Everley told me.'

‘I don't think so, dear, its name's George.'

‘I know. She said she made a mistake.'

‘It does look a bit big round the middle, come to think of it. All the more reason for it to stay put. I'd lie down again, if I were you. You look done in.'

She went off and got stuck into the argument again, and I closed my eyes. I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. Everything was spinning round inside my head: Joe, and how Dora was going to manage, and the chest with the money, and Mrs Everley and her blasted cat, and how I'd lost my identity card, but I felt too tired and numb to be worried about any of it. Perhaps it was the shock, I don't know—or that tablet—but I couldn't seem to get a grip on my thoughts, somehow. It was like being on the outside of my own mind. Then I heard someone say, ‘Rene,' but it seemed to take a long time between hearing and understanding, sort of like a pebble being dropped into the middle of a pond when you're standing on the edge and the ripples come out wider and wider until they reach you.

‘Rene.'

When I opened my eyes, there was Harry, sitting on the floor beside the bed. ‘How are you doing?'

‘Oh, Harry, am I glad to see you…'

‘Are you all right? Nothing broken? You should be at the first aid post, you know.'

‘I'm all right, Harry, really. Just a bit…you know. What's the time?'

He grimaced and glanced at his watch. ‘Half past one. You'd think they'd be asleep by now.' He gestured at the gaggle of women. ‘Now, come on, have a bit of this.' He held up a little flask. ‘You look as if you need it.'

‘What is it?'

‘Brandy. Only for emergencies.'

I swallowed some. It felt like fire going down my throat, but certainly helped. ‘Lovely. Thanks, Harry.' Then I looked at the end of the bed.

‘It's gone.'

‘What has?'

‘The cat. They were arguing about it. Oh, well.'

Harry looked worried. ‘Have a drop more.'

‘Well, if you've got some.' I held out the cup. ‘But there really was a cat in here. It was Mrs Everley's. I was in her flat when we were hit. Ground floor. She was worried about it, Harry. She said it was called George and it was expecting and she'd lost it and that's why she wasn't in the shelter. Then she said she was sorry she never offered me a cup of tea and then she just died, Harry. Like Joe. That's my brother-in-law; he's dead, too… his arm, it was there… I didn't tell Dora about it, but his arm fell on me, it just—'