Northern Girl (12 page)

Her only consolation was that he’d now identified himself. She still had no idea what his name was, but to her, from then on, he would be ‘Hanz’, a word derived from the English for ‘hands’. Fitting for a pervert with no control over his, she thought.

Unknown to her, Dominic had witnessed part of the confrontation on his return from an errand for Papa. He was pushing his bicycle towards the shed in the back garden when he stopped to glance through the window, wanting to let Madeleine know that he was back. What
he witnessed filled him with such fury that he threw the bike to the ground, and, flinging the back door open, charged into the house, where Hanz – with his sickening smirk – had just left the kitchen.

‘What was all that about?’ he asked Madeleine, trying to catch his breath.

‘All what?’ she replied calmly. She had no intention of telling him what had happened, knowing how he would risk his life rather than let anything harm her.

‘Come on, Madeleine, I saw him through the window!’

Madeleine turned to her brother. ‘Dominic,’ she said. ‘You can’t do anything about it.’

‘That’s where you are wrong,’ he’d answered, heading towards the door through which the German soldier had just left.

Madeleine rushed to restrain him, saying, ‘Look, I can manage him. You saw how I got rid of him. I think he’s as scared as we are,’ she lied. ‘But you mustn’t forget that they have the upper hand, and we just have to put up with things until the war is over.’ Hoping to pacify her brother, she added lightly, ‘Anyway, because of his wandering hands, I have named him Hanz.’ She smiled at Dominic. ‘Don’t you think that’s funny?’

Dominic looked back at her grimly. ‘He
has
been pestering you, then.’

‘Dominic, please,’ she pleaded. ‘We have to get through this somehow.’

‘He has no right to touch you, we could report him.’

‘Oh, Dominic, you know that would be a total waste
of time. Who’d believe us, and even worse, who would care?’

Dominic stood there looking hopeless. ‘You
must
promise to tell me if it … when it happens again,’ he hissed. His fury scared her. She’d rarely seen him like that.

‘Yes, Dominic. I promise,’ she lied.

Tom had miraculously managed to avoid Jessie since arriving home. So far, anyway! God knows how I’ve managed that when she lives in the same village, he thought, as he glanced at himself in the only bit of mirror still unmarked by the mottled black spots gradually eating away at the whole thing.

He picked up his shaving brush from behind the cracked but spotless ceramic sink, and splashed it around in tepid water before rubbing it vigorously over the shaving soap. Then, lifting his chin, and casting his eyes down at the mirror, he briefly ran his hand over the stubble to check the whisker growth, before, with the soapy brush, making rapid circular movements. Once his chin and cheeks were white with lather, he stood with razor poised, then leaned in towards the mirror until he was close enough to see what he was doing in the dim light of the scullery, gripped his nose
and pulled his head to one side. It had always been a bit dark in there, the only daylight coming through the tiny window overlooking the backyard.

While he shaved, his mind wandered back to Jessie, but he only felt the slightest tinge of guilt. He wasn’t ready to meet her yet. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he ever would be. Trouble is, he thought, I’m nothing like the same bloke who left the village all that time ago.

‘
Shit!
’ he suddenly exclaimed, as he nicked his chin with the razor. ‘
Bloody hell!
’ he cursed, grabbing the first thing he could find, which was a dish cloth. He pressed it firmly to his chin while cursing himself for not concentrating. It never ceased to amaze him how much blood leaked from such a small wound. He finished shaving quickly, then picked up the
Northern Echo
, and tore a small triangular piece from the bottom corner before slapping it on to the wound, trusting it would act like blotting paper on the continuous trickle running down his chin.

He pushed the kettle further into the flames of the coal fire, his mind all the while on Jessie, and he found himself becoming increasingly agitated, knowing that he was going to have to deal with her at some point.

He’d known Jessie, a friend of his sister Rene’s, since their early teens, when she’d become his girlfriend. And though she’d not been one of the brazen hussies from the bus shelter, she hadn’t exactly been an introvert, either. He must have found that appealing at one time, he supposed, and what with her being a friend of Rene’s, she was always around his house. Realizing he
wasn’t being fair, he reminded himself that he had found her attractive. She was a grand-looking lass. But he knew that somehow, over time, their relationship had just become a habit.

Much to the envy of his mates, Tom had never had any trouble getting girls. Why, according to them, they fell at his feet! He grinned now at this gross exaggeration. But he was aware that if he didn’t handle the situation with Jessie right, he would end up saddled with her.

He knew it was cruel keeping her in the dark, and he’d have much preferred to do nothing and just hope the problem went away. But he also knew that it wouldn’t. He knew her well enough to realize she’d automatically assume he’d marry her now he was home – even though he’d always avoided mentioning the subject. The best he could hope for, he supposed, was that during the last few years she, too, might have changed her mind.

He’d thought about her very little while he’d been in the army, but there’d never been anything in her letters to make him think
she
might have cooled off. Admittedly at first he’d been only too pleased to get those letters. In the early days, when being away from home in such hostile circumstances had scared him shitless most of the time, he’d found the trivial gossip in them very comforting.

Over time, though, as he and the other squaddies in his division had become closer and more reliant on each other, he’d ceased to be interested in her ramblings.
What was the point of learning who’d said what, and who wasn’t speaking to someone else in Evenwood? But then, how could she, or anybody else back home, be expected to know what it was like for him? How could they imagine the heat of the desert in Egypt, or the struggle to survive the bloody battle on Brittany’s Gold Beach? Why, I was actually in Jerusalem, and even
I
can’t really believe that now! He’d
never
forget it, though. Or Bethlehem … He shook his head, still amazed that he’d actually been there. I remember imagining how my mam would be beside herself when she got to hear about that! he thought. Not that
he
was particularly religious, of course. But as far as his mam was concerned, for her son to have been to Christ’s birthplace was a miracle. He knew that she’d never be able to fully grasp that her Tom had written to her from the holy places she’d listened and learned about when she was a bairn in Sunday school, and then at the Wesleyan chapel she still attended every Sunday.

He’d had a real strong sense of his mam while he’d been there, too. Being in places like that, so exotic and far from home, had felt like a fairy tale to him. He smiled now, remembering how happy he’d been on the day he’d picked wild flowers in Bethlehem. And how, when he’d got back to base, he’d been teased by his mates about it. But he’d taken it all in good part, and carefully placed the flowers between neatly torn squares of old newspaper. They only ever had out of date newspapers there. Then he’d placed the bits of newspaper containing the flowers between the pages of
the small Bible that he carried around, but never read.

They’d been expecting a post run the following day, and he’d cheekily managed to cadge some brown paper to wrap the Bible in from Sergeant Jacobs, who got sent writing paper and other stationery by his family. Every now and then, the Sarge would sell a few bits and pieces to the lads for a pittance, or maybe exchange an envelope and writing paper for a couple of cigarettes, but mostly he gave it to them for nothing, as he did that day with Tom, because he knew Tom wanted to make his mother happy. Tom remembered the sigh of mock-despair that came from the Sarge as he’d handed over the paper.

He was a good lad, was the Sarge. They’d all agreed on that. Tom had said, ‘Thanks, Sarge!’ Then continued awkwardly, ‘Er, I know a letter costs a penny ha’penny to post in England, Sarge, but you wouldn’t happen to know what it’d cost to send a parcel, would you?’

The Sarge had answered absentmindedly, ‘Never mind that for now, Dawson, we’ll sort it out later.’ Then, smiling, he’d added, ‘Let’s just hope that the parcel gets to your mother before you do, eh, the way the post is over here!’

‘Yes, Sarge!’ Tom had saluted with a grin, because the cost didn’t matter a toss. Just knowing how over the moon his mam was going to be was enough to put a grin on his face for the rest of that day.

Startled by the kettle boiling frantically and spurting water from its spout into the hissing fire, Tom rushed into the living room. He stood for a second, uncertain
how to tackle it, until, remembering that he’d seen Hannah put a pile of newly ironed tea towels into the sideboard the day before, he yanked the door open and grabbed one. Folding it as thickly as possible he wrapped it around the handle of the iron kettle, before running like the clappers towards the scullery with the still-boiling water spurting from the spout. He swiftly dropped it into the sink and ran cold water from the tap over the handle, then, after wrapping the tea towel around the handle again, he poured the boiling water into the sink.

‘Good heavens, what’s goin’ on, lad? There’s more steam in ’ere than on a station platform!’ Hannah, just back from shopping, had come straight into the living room, where, having dumped her basket on the dinner table, she was busily flapping a cloth around to disperse the steam.

Tom shouted through to her, ‘Keep your hair on, Mam, it’s all under control.’ Then he added, laughing, ‘Anyway, give us a bit of peace, will you? I’m trying to have a wash,
in private
, if you don’t mind!’

‘In private, indeed, ah’ll give ’im in private!’ she said. Then she called through the gap in the door, ‘Ah’ve seen it all before, yer know, yer can’t embarrass me, lad!’

Tom called back, ‘Well, it’s me that’s embarrassed! Anyway you get on with unloading your shopping, and let me get finished here – before the water goes cold, and I have to make the house into a steaming station platform again to warm it up.’

‘Cheeky monkey!’ he heard her mutter.

He remembered Jessie calling him that. And now here he was, back home and trying to avoid her. Hannah had kept her promise not to tell Jessie exactly what day he was coming home, but nevertheless she’d hinted several times that he should go round to see her, warning him that most of the village would know that he was back by now, anyway, so she was sure to find out.

‘After all, lad,’ she reminded him, ‘she did pop round every now and then to see how we were while you were away, yer know.’

‘I know,’ he answered. He knew Jessie had her good points, but he couldn’t help wondering if her reasons for ‘popping round’ were as pure as Hannah believed. More like she was calling to make sure there was nowt going on that she didn’t know about, he thought.

But despite all that, he would have to go to see her, and soon. He hadn’t even been in touch with his mates yet, either. For the past week he’d just enjoyed the peace of mooching around the house and catching up on family news. And he knew Hannah had loved having him all to herself for a while, too.

‘When’s our Rene coming to see us then, Mam? And where’s the towel, for goodness’ sake?’ Tom called from the scullery, where he was stripped to the waist shivering after what had turned out to be a tepid sink wash, because he’d put too much cold water in.

He heard his mam ‘tut tut’ as she took a towel from in front of the fire, then, making a big thing of turning her head away, she threw it in to him, saying, ‘Ay lad, get that round yer. Yer never did think of getting the
towel
before
yer got washed. And ter answer yer first question, our Rene should be back from Darlington sometime tomorrow. She really wanted ter be here when yer arrived home, yer know, but she had this course ter attend fer work, like. Anyway she said she’d written ter yer plenty, so you’ll know all her news already, I expect.’

‘Aye, well I do I suppose, but it’ll still be nice to see her … And the bairn, is she coming an’ all?’

‘Yes, our Jeannie’s been stayin’ with one of our Rene’s friends in Darlington, while her mam’s been on the course. It wasn’t very long, she only missed two or three days of school, like. Eee, Jeannie’ll be that pleased ter see yer, lad! Yer ’er favourite, you are, and she’ll be ten this year, yer know.’

‘God, she must’ve only been about four or five when I went away. And I’ll bet she’s a right little madam now.’

‘Well, she can be, if she doesn’t get ’er own way, like, but she’s got a good heart, has our Jeannie.’

Tom smiled. ‘Well, she was always willing to share her sweets, even gave us her last one when I was going away. Brought a tear to my eye, as I remember.’

‘Ay well, our Jeannie would’ve given
you
’er last anything. There was nobody like you, as far as she was concerned.’

‘Well, I’ll reserve my judgement till I see what she’s like now that she’s ten.’

Hannah looked serious for a moment. ‘If our Rene’s back tomorrow, yer’d better get yerself over ter Jessie’s beforehand, otherwise there’ll be ructions. Cause yer
can be sure that she’ll get ter know that yer back home, that’s if she doesn’t already. Yer goin’ ter have ter sort this out, lad. Don’t keep her hangin’ on if yer not interested, pet. It’s not right.’

‘Oh, I know that, Mam, but it’s not as simple as that. I think she’s assumed we’re going to get engaged, like.’

Seeing Hannah’s face light up, he raised his hand to stop her. ‘Before you say anything, Mam, I never said a word. She just got it into her head. I’ve hardly written to her, either, since I realized that she might be thinking that way. She started talking about rings and stuff.’