Northern Girl (3 page)

‘OK, OK! I’m going. Keep your hair on, Mam,’ he teased.

‘Get on with yer.’ Hannah flapped the tea towel at him as he climbed the stairs. She headed back towards the fire, beaming with joy and thanking God for getting Tom home safely.

Tom rushed into his room and threw himself on the bed. He bounced on his backside, revelling in the comfort of the mattress, before laying himself down with a contented sigh, his head for once empty of anything as he folded his arms behind it and stared up at the ceiling. The promised mug of tea far from his mind, he just lay there staring blankly. Then, aware his eyes were becoming heavy, he told himself he wasn’t to sleep, and sat up quickly, leaning against the headboard while he pulled himself together.

He put his hand into his pocket where the damp
Woodbines and matches were, and after several unsuccessful attempts to strike a match on the collapsed soggy box, cursed and gave up. Defeated, he wriggled himself down the bed until he was on his back again. This time his eyes rested on the old oak chest to his left, and for some reason he was gratified to see that it was still missing a handle on the bottom drawer. He felt panicky about his own thoughts. Why was he getting so upset about things that didn’t matter: like clocks and handles? He’d only noticed this since arriving home; he was sure he hadn’t felt like it in France or any of the other places he’d been. I’ve got to get this rubbish out of my head, he thought.

As he lay there, he found he had to open his eyes wider and wider to stop them feeling dry, and, realizing that he was losing the battle to stay awake, he made a move to get up, but he was suddenly as helpless as if he was drunk. The last thing he was aware of was smiling with pleasure at being home.

‘Tom! Come on lad, wake up!’ The voice seemed to be coming from some distant planet, until he felt a hand on his shoulder gently shaking him. He tried hard to resist coming round from what, for the first time for six years, had been a deep and peaceful sleep.

‘Eee, yer’ve been out like a light this last hour or so, son! So ah left yer in peace, but ah thought yer’d want ter be awake afore yer da gets home.’

Tom sat up, squinted at his mam, then, after a loud and exaggerated yawn, said, ‘Ay, Mam, I don’t know
what happened there! I was just having a lie on me bed, and the next minute there was you shaking me brains out!’ He looked at his watch. ‘I suppose the tea’s gone cold, then?’

Laughing, she pushed him back on the bed. ‘Get yersel’ down stairs, and come and see all the bakin’ ah did this mornin’ ready fer yer homecoming!’

‘It’s funny, you know, Mam,’ he said, getting up and following her downstairs, ‘because whenever I used to think of you when I was away, you were always bakin’, and sometimes if I tried really hard, I could smell the teacakes!’

Hannah turned at the bottom of the stairs to see his mischievous grin. ‘Eee, yer daft, you are,’ she said, giving him another shove. ‘And yer must think ah’m as daft as a brush an’ all. Anyway, come an’ have a look!’

Tom followed her to the scullery, where she lifted the clean starched tea towels which covered her day’s baking. Tom stood open-mouthed for a second or two. ‘Blimey, Mam!’ he said, staring at the array of cakes, jam tarts, iced buns, scones, meat pies, sausage rolls, and God knows what else.

‘Mam! For goodness’ sake! When are we going to eat this lot?’ he said, picking up an iced bun.

‘Well yer know what ah’m like, pet, ah like ter keep busy. And ah was so nervous this morning that ah couldn’t stop. And ah’ll be givin’ some of it away more than likely ter old Missus Hurd next door.’ She leaned towards him and whispered, as if divulging a great secret. ‘She’s never got any money, yer know!’ Then, as
if she needed to explain herself to Tom, she went on, ‘Some of the other folk lent me their ration books ter get extra flour and sugar and butter, among other things. They all chipped in, so if there’s anything left they can help themselves. Anyway, ah can’t see you complainin’, when it comes ter fillin’ yer belly!’ she joked. Then she laughed and added, ‘Unless yer’ve changed, of course?’

Tom’s eyes glazed for a moment, before he said, in all seriousness, ‘Well, I think I have changed, Mam. Oh, not in the way you’re talking about, but there’s so much happened, I couldn’t help but be altered by it …’ He stopped abruptly, and remained deep in thought until he noticed the look of concern on her face. Quickly, he added, ‘It’s not
all
bad, mind!’ Immediately he thought of Maddie, and shivered with excitement. He remembered how honoured he’d felt when she’d liked the way he had shortened her name, especially as no one else had called her that. And she was such a bonny lass! How he’d loved to show her off. He’d always noticed other chaps looking at her at the dances they’d gone to in Calais. Why, even officers had been queuing up to ask her for a dance, although, he reminded himself, he’d not been so keen on that!

He’d just put a freshly made mug of tea to his mouth when the clatter of the back door latch stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned, and there in front of him stood his da, his smiling face as black as coal. The whites of Jack Dawson’s twinkling blue eyes and the pink of his lips stood out against the coal dust. Father and son stood face to face, both too overcome to
speak. Without a word they moved towards each other, and for a split second faltered, before flinging their arms around each other so tightly that it was painful.

Tom, almost overcome by love for his da, said, his voice breaking, ‘I’ve so much ter tell yer, Da.’

Jack glanced at Hannah for advice, and, picking up from the discreet shake of her head that now wasn’t the right time, responded as casually as he could, ‘All in good time, lad, all in good time. But fer now just let me get used ter havin’ yer back home, eh? We never thought we’d see this day, son.’ He patted Tom on the back.

Then, to avoid the danger of becoming emotional again, he pulled away and walked into the sitting room, where he began undressing. He climbed into the metal bath that was steaming before the fire and tactfully changed the subject with the comment, ‘Ah see yer mam’s been bakin’ enough fer an army again. She must have thought yer were bringing them all back with yer!’

Tom laughed. ‘Ay, Da, you haven’t changed a bit,’ he said.

Jack laughed loudly and said, ‘Who are you talkin’ to, lad, in that posh showin’-off accent? Is that from serving with all them army lads from down there in the South, like?’

‘You’d better watch your P’s and Q’s now, Da, because I’ve P’d and Q’d with the best of them now, you know. And most especially I’ve peed!’ Tom said teasingly.

Jack was really getting in to the banter now as he
winked at Tom and shouted to the kitchen, ‘Here, Hannah Dawson! Come and scrub me back, will yer?’

‘Get our Tom ter do it,’ came the reply. ‘Ah haven’t got time fer your shenanigans. Ah’ll be dishin’ yer tea out in a minute, so get yer skates on!’

‘Eee, lass, ah wuz just havin’ a bit crack with yer, so yer didn’t feel left out in the scullery there, all on yer own! Dinnet worry, ah’ll be washed an’ out a here before yer’ve got the kettle boiled, that’s if yer ever get it put on, instead of yer mitherin’.’

A few seconds later Hannah came through into the living room, squeezing herself between the table and the bath tin, which as usual was taking up most of the space in the room. It hadn’t struck Tom until that moment that his mam must have heated, on the fire, the endless pans of water required to fill up the bath all on her own. Damn it! How selfish of me to have fallen asleep like that, he thought angrily. I could have been helping her just like I used to in the old days. I used to love fetching that old bath tin through from the back yard. He stared at the rust on it. That’s when I finally managed to get the thing off the bloody great nail that it was hanging on out there! Why had they always called it the ‘bath tin’, and not the tin bath? he wondered, for the first time. I remember the carry-on I had trying to drag it through the scullery into the living room, not that it was heavy, but I was only a bairn, and when I’d got it to the right position I’d just plonk it down there in front of the roaring fire, and me and Mam used to have a hell of a time filling the thing. I
don’t know how we lifted those heavy boiling pans off the fire. How on earth had Mam managed on her own all this time? he wondered.

‘Hey, lad! When yer’ve finished yer day-dreamin’ give us a hand here, will yer?’

‘Sorry, Da, I keep doing that. My mind wanders,’ Tom apologized, taking the huge bar of carbolic soap and rough flannel from Jack.

‘It’s all right, lad, it’ll take time. We know that,’ Jack answered.

Tom lathered the soap on the flannel and started to wash his dad’s back with vigour. A pained shout brought him to a sudden halt.

‘Ay, steady on, lad. You’ll scrub me away if yer not careful!’

Tom had been so overcome by being at home with his mam and da at last, that in an effort to quell the tears he’d scrubbed too vigorously. His da’s back was red.

Hannah pushed her way through once more, this time with an armful of crockery she’d collected from the sideboard under the window. As she passed, she squeezed Tom’s arm to reassure him.

Tom was about to apologize to his da when Jack, drying himself, said, ‘Come on, son, I think we’re in need of a stiff drink while yer mam gets the dinner out. There’s a drop of whisky in the sideboard, but don’t tell anybody, mind!’ He winked. ‘Else they’ll all be round expectin’ their glasses ter be filled up!

Tom poured out two measures of whisky,
and
a sweet
sherry. He’d found half a bottle at the back of the cupboard. Jack hadn’t mentioned that!

Seeing Tom hand the measure of sherry to Hannah, Jack grinned. ‘Nobody knew about that, either, lad!’ Then, glancing at his wife with an affectionate glint in his eye, he teased her, ‘And don’t you get yerself drunk before yer’ve seen ter our dinner, mind!’

Hannah answered indignantly, ‘And when’ve you ever seen
me
the worse fer wear, Jack Dawson?’

‘Never,’ came the reply. ‘But there’s always a first time, just you remember that, Hannah Dawson!’

At that, she glanced towards Tom and sighed. ‘Nowt changes, does it, lad?’

He reflected for a moment before answering, ‘No, Mam, nowt changes.’ And as he lifted the bucket to chuck more coal on the fire he added under his breath, ‘Thank God!’

But whether he liked it or not, change was on its way.

‘But, Maman! You
can’t
send me to England, I don’t even speak the language!’ Madeleine stared at her mother in disbelief. It pained her to see that once-proud face looking so weary. She knew, too, that her whole family were equally devastated by what she’d done. The very thought of it made her stomach churn.

There was a moment or two of uncomfortable silence between the two of them, and then Madeleine asked, ‘What do you think it will be like for me in England, when the furthest I’ve ever been from home is visiting my sisters in Boulogne, hardly an hour’s train journey away? England might as well be on another planet!’ She pleaded in vain. Her mother obviously had no idea just how distant it was.

Maman sighed and got up from the kitchen table, while Madeleine remained seated, consumed by a strange mixture of shame and fear; but more than that,
she felt immense sadness because she’d let her mother down so badly.

Madeleine had had a problem looking Maman in the face lately. The hurt in her eyes had been almost more than she could bear. Now, when she slowly raised her head and glanced at her mother, she saw she was busying herself around the kitchen, opening the crock where the vegetables were kept, and looking sadly at the contents. For a second Madeleine felt she was glimpsing herself. She suddenly realized how similar Maman’s facial expressions and mannerisms were to her own. It wasn’t so strange, really, she supposed: after all, their likeness had been commented on many times before, but Madeleine hadn’t really seen it until now, at the age of eighteen. We really
are
similar, she thought, except, that is, for Maman’s hair, which unlike her own chestnut locks, had turned a beautiful silvery white. And Maman was still in her early fifties! No one had been very surprised when Maman’s hair had gone white early, as it was a family trait, but Madeleine suspected that the war might have had something to do with the speed it had happened.

She hadn’t really studied Maman closely before; Maman had always just been her mother. But now Madeleine realized that they had exactly the same large, thickly lashed brown eyes, neat noses, and delicately shaped lips. Even their wistful, sweet-natured expressions were identical. She was taken aback, and if she was honest, pleased. After all, Maman
was
considered to be very striking!

Oh, Maman, she thought despairingly, as she watched her peeling potatoes for the next meal. What on earth are you thinking, to suggest that I go and live in England? You must be feeling desperate to come up with an idea like that. She gradually slid further down into her wooden chair, causing it to wobble irritatingly on the uneven tiled floor.

She looked around, and although the room itself had changed little over the years, for her
everything
had changed. She could feel animosity right here in her own home, and it scared her even more than when their house had been occupied by the Germans. This was much worse, she decided: this was hostility from her own loving family. This was all the love and security that she had ever known crumbling around her.

She knew one thing for certain: she couldn’t remain here the way things were, because, rightly or wrongly, she felt that everyone was now her enemy. She’d never have dreamed of arguing with her mother before, and couldn’t believe that she was doing it now.

Why, even Papa – Papa who’d always been on her side – had taken to spending hours in his workshop doing carpentry, and only coming into the house to eat and sleep. Although she couldn’t deny that financially it was good that he had so many orders, she also knew that, before, he would never have let work stop him from seeing his family. Before all this he would have found a way, even if it had meant going back to his workshop later on in the evening. But now he was obviously burying his head in the sand – or, in this case,
sawdust. She thought this wryly, almost laughing out loud at the absurdity of it. How unrealistic of him to think that his problems would go away if he ignored them!