The Street (29 page)

‘I’m being sent back.’

Alice had been staring dreamily into her tea. Now she jerked her head up and stared at Josh. ‘Back? Back to the fighting in France?’

Josh nodded. ‘Heard yesterday. I’ve been passed as fit.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Can’t deny my leg is much better. Bit stiff, though.’ He tested that limb’s flexibility by wobbling it under the café table. He smiled reassuringly at Alice. ‘I won’t be in the thick of it straight off like I was before. Not exactly fast on my feet, am I?’ he added ruefully. ‘I’ll be on light duties to start.’

‘Wish you weren’t going,’ Alice finally gulped out. ‘Wish this bloody war was over with!’

‘Me too,’ Josh agreed with quiet vehemence. He comfortingly squeezed Alice’s fidgeting fingers as they flicked at a teaspoon. ‘It can’t go on much longer; since the Yanks came in last year everyone’s been saying it’s just a matter of time. Just needs a final few scraps on the Western Front and we’ll have the Hun on the run. No point in stopping now, not when so many people have died. Can’t let it all have been for nothing, can we?’ he said on a sigh.

Alice knew what Josh had said was true. Every available man was needed for that final push to get the enemy retreating back to Germany. How else would her dear dad or Geoff ever get to come home? Still she didn’t want Josh to go. She had come to like him very much.

‘I hate this war! I bloody hate it!’ she spat. ‘Wish it had never started. Wish we’d never got involved in it.’

‘You’re not alone in that,’ Josh said. ‘Come on, I’ll walk with you back to work.’

They stopped by the factory gate and finally Alice blurted out the question that had been buzzing in her head. ‘Will I see you before you go?’

Josh shook his head. ‘Will you write to me?’

Alice nodded vigorously.

‘My dad’ll let you know where to send letters.’

Again Alice nodded. ‘I know it’s not likely but if you were to come across me dad, or me friend Geoff Lovat . . .’ Her words trailed away and she cuffed impatiently at her watering eyes.

‘I’ll keep a look-out for them both, promise,’ Josh said. ‘Royal Fusiliers and Middlesex Foot.’ He reminded himself of what she’d told him about those two beloved fellows.

‘Thanks,’ Alice mumbled.

‘You take right good care of yourself, Alice.’ Slowly Josh took her hands and dipped his head towards her. He lightly touched his mouth to her soft cheek.

She had known him now for over three months. In that time they had gone out to the pictures and to dances and concerts for the servicemen. But never had they done so unaccompanied. Usually Paul O’Connor and Annie Foster or other young people from the factory joined them. And never before had Josh tried to kiss her. Josh knew about Geoff, of course, and that he held a special place in Alice’s heart. But he’d never probed for information and asked Alice if her very good friend Geoff was also her sweetheart. And Alice had not said. Alice realised that she’d warmed to Josh even more because of it. It was as if he understood that there was far more to the bittersweet relationship between her and Geoff than she was able to explain. He was waiting, as was she, for fate to determine all their futures. Alice went on tiptoe, briefly brushed her mouth on Josh’s cheek, mimicking the affection he’d shown her. She turned and wordlessly sped in through the factory gate.

‘Post’s arrived.’

Geoff sprung to his feet, a rare smile splitting his face. He’d been billeted in the village for several days and appreciated not one of them. The usual comforts of warm water, bedding and hot food held little cheer. Since he’d discovered Jack’s misfortune nothing had bucked him up. Until now. One of the best, longed-for moments on rest leave was getting letters from home.

The corporal who’d been to the small post office to collect the treasure-filled sack started to delve inside and bark out names.

Vinnie Cartwright heard his name called and bounded forward.

Geoff gave his friend a smile while his heart thumped and he prayed he might soon be summoned. The corporal leaned in to scoop from the bottom of the sack for it was quite clearly now almost empty. ‘Geoffrey Lovat!’

For a moment Geoff remained numb with thankfulness then he strode forward to take his two letters. A lingering look at the small, neat writing on one of them made a lump form in his throat. It was from Alice. The other bore his mother’s spidery scrawl. He tore open that envelope and greedily read the news from home and his whole family’s sincere wish that he was keeping safe and well. He smiled, slipped it in his tunic pocket. Then he looked at the letter from Alice.

‘Not opening it?’ Vinnie asked. He was folding up his own note and carefully replacing it in its envelope.

‘Nah . . . saving that one fer later,’ Geoff replied quietly. He put it away inside his breast pocket whilst withdrawing from the same place his crumpled packet of cigarettes. At his leisure later, in private, he would savour reading Alice’s letter. Presently there were too many people milling about and too much distracting noise to dilute the precious moment.

Geoff got a foothold in the wall just as a star shell went up, silvering the slaughter on no-man’s land. The Germans had begun a fresh onslaught and again broken through the Allied line just a day after he returned to the trench. It was night time; dark enough to try and recover what poor souls they could. ‘I see him,’ he whispered urgently to Vinnie. ‘See him moving. Thirty yards I reckon, off to the right.’ He hoisted himself up and slithered on his belly to the first bomb crater and dropped into it. His heart was pounding fit to burst his ribs. He poked his head up, alert to any sight or sound. Charred trees, mangled to death by shellfire, impeded his view here and there. Then he heard the faint call again and heaved himself from his shelter. He kept his head down, helmet leading the way. Using knees and elbows he moved forward as fast as he could, ignoring the flesh-ripping debris beneath him and praying that the boy’s voice would continue to guide him with its faint cries.

Something gossamer-smooth, evocative, touched his hand and he’d scrambled on a foot or two before suddenly stopping. He wormed backwards, blindly patting at the corpse he’d moments ago gingerly avoided as it loomed in front of him in the mist. His scrabbling fingers again encountered silk fluttering lightly in the breeze. His hand slipped to where the material was clawed. He ran a hand from those cold fingers to an arm and up, up to a shoulder, to a head facing away from him. The man’s skull refused to turn towards him. Geoff ran trembling fingers to an icy forehead, splaying them to locate a ridge of a scar high up beneath a lock of hair.

Despite the water flowing from his eyes, clouding his vision, Geoff could feel that Jack’s face was otherwise unmarked. He pulled himself round in the lee of Jack’s body to stare down into his face. A German flare bathed the body in pearly light, confirming its identity. Instinctively Geoff tried to close Jack’s sightless eyes to protect them from rats but couldn’t and he sobbed in frustration and anguish. With his forehead resting on Jack’s frozen chest he felt for the silk scarf and carefully removed it from his fingers, trying not to tear it. Geoff folded the silk and placed it in his breast pocket, aware then that Vinnie was swearing and hissing at him to hurry up from somewhere in front. Geoff gasped in a lungful of fetid air and crawled on. He was sure he was close to the shell hole in which Vinnie was sheltering and pushed back on his elbows to properly clear his eyes of stinging brine and locate him. A bullet hit him in the chest, bouncing him over onto his back.

‘Sehr schön
,
’
the German soldier said and pulled the length of silk across a grubby palm. He’d just ransacked Geoff’s pockets and found the scarf. He scrunched it in his fist, about to pocket it, when he felt stiff fingers on his leg. He shrieked, skittered back, making his comrade bellow a laugh.
‘Jeder ist sehr tot!
Windig, nur windig,’
he scoffed and carried on to salvage, as he’d been ordered, what he could from the carnage.

The soldier with the scarf glanced fearfully down into staring eyes. He wasn’t sure the Tommy was dead or that the wind was responsible for moving him. When he’d leaned over the body, the young soldier had been on his side. Now he was on his back, wild eyes glaring fiercely at him.

He chanted a prayer and swiftly bent, replaced the scarf where he’d found it, in a pocket with a hole by the dead soldier’s heart. With a swift, backward glance he moved on.

‘Got a minute, Al?’

Alice turned to see Margaret Lovat hovering by her doorway, one of her chapped hands clenched on the iron railings. Alice had been about to dash back to work. She was a bit late but she smiled at her neighbour and went to see what she wanted. ‘Just on me dinner break.’ It was a gentle hint that she had little time to spare.

‘Won’t keep you more’n a minute,’ Margaret said.

Alice sensed that the woman was uneasy and after a moment it occurred to her why that might be. Bert Lovat worked at Turner’s and he knew, as did most of the staff, Alice had several times gone out with their supervisor’s son. Recently Alice had noticed the stares and whispers increasing. Alice had suspected Bert or Margaret might have something to say about her friendship with Josh. They’d known that Geoff had started walking out with her before he went to fight.

‘Just want to say that I ain’t taking no notice of the rumours goin’ about,’ Margaret blurted.

‘Rumours?’ Alice echoed.

‘Yeah . . . those bleeding good fer nuthin’s trying to cause trouble. I ain’t taking no notice of what they’re saying and neither is Bert. We just wanted you ter know that. You’ve been real good to us since Geoff’s been gone. Your mum has too and we don’t forget favours. Just want you to know it.’

‘What rumours?’ Alice had grown pale. Suddenly those stares and whispers she’d noticed had taken on a sinister significance. Had it somehow become known . . . gossiped about . . . that her dad might not be her dad at all? Was the talk something to do with Jimmy’s odd disappearance? Alice’s imagination darted here and there. ‘Who’s been saying what?’ she demanded rather rudely in her agitation.

‘Thought you knew, Al.’ Margaret sighed regretfully. ‘I wouldn’t have said nothing but Bert told me that there’s been gossip at Turner’s that you’re in the family way. They’re saying that you ‘n’ yer sister Sophy are out of the same mould where fellers are concerned.’ Margaret pursed her lips. ‘Your Sophy’s alright. Her and Danny just had a bad start, that’s all.’ She put a motherly hand on Alice’s shoulder. ‘Talk is Josh Chaplin’s got you pregnant ‘n’ done a runner rather’n stand by you.’

Alice let out a laugh of relief. ‘What a load of rubbish!’ She emphasised her disgust with a dismissive gesture. ‘Josh’s been sent back to France. If he didn’t go he’d be a deserter.’

‘Are you in the family way?’ Margaret asked tentatively.

‘’Course not! I wouldn’t! What about Geoff?’ It was a spontaneous denial that drew from Margaret a twist of a smile.

‘Geoff thinks the world of you, ‘n’ all Al. But . . . it’s war, ain’t it? Things happen; people change, so if it changes for you we just want you to know we don’t bear no grudges over it.’

‘I wouldn’t ever hurt Geoff,’ Alice declared passionately. ‘He’s me best friend in the world.’ She blinked back the moisture filling her eyes.

*  *  *

‘D’you know if Mr or Mrs Lovat’s at home?’

‘Yeah. That’s me.’ Margaret turned around to see who’d spoken so nervously.

The telegraph boy handed her something yellow.

‘Are the Keivers home next door?’ It was another quavering enquiry.

‘I’m Alice Keiver.’ Alice simply frowned at the boy. Her mind was still grappling with what Margaret had told her.

The lad quickly delivered another piece of yellow paper. He backed off. He’d been spat at, thumped and chased in his time. He was taking no chances, especially in this neighbourhood. Within a moment he’d set off at a run, pushing his bike. With an agile jump he was on and pedalling furiously.

Alice and Margaret stared at the telegrams and then at each other, shocked into speechlessness. Margaret suddenly collapsed and in trying to catch her Alice dropped her sheet of paper.

A few moments later Tilly came out of her doorway to find out what the noise was about and saw Alice and Margaret huddled together against the railings, wailing.

It should have been a horrible wintry day with wind and rain, thunder and fog. Alice trudged on aimlessly with the signs of spring mocking her anguish. The sky was blue and balmy air was stroking her wet face. The trees she passed had fat, unfurling buds of bright green. The sunny scene splintered into a kaleidoscope of colour as fresh tears streamed from her eyes.

She turned into Thane Villas and instinctively trudged towards the toy factory. She looked up at the board that showed a list of job vacancies. She could see the splinters in the wood where Geoff had quickly prised it free for her and helped her get her first job. Slowly she sank to the ground, sat with her back resting against the gritty brick pillar and howled for her dad and for Geoff; she cursed and shrieked, careless of being seen or heard.

‘Been looking for you.’

Alice glanced up and through red puffy eyes saw Sarah Whitton.

‘Saw Beth . . . she’s in a state,’ Sarah quietly explained. ‘She told me about yer dad and Geoff . . . so sorry, Al . . .’ Sarah crouched down then turned and sat beside Alice. Gently she put a hand on one of Alice’s then withdrew it. She remembered well enough that at such a time you didn’t want more than a little touch. She remembered how she’d felt when she’d first heard her dad had been killed. You didn’t want to be smothered or talked at. You didn’t know what you wanted. Sometimes it was best just to be left alone. After a while she asked quietly, ‘You ready to go home?’

Alice moved her head to indicate she wasn’t.

‘Sit here a while, then . . .’ Sarah said, and they sat together, barely moving or speaking. When Alice’s grief erupted in hysterical screams and rants Sarah dropped her forehead to her drawn-up knees and let her be. They’d be alright, she told concerned people. And they would be.

When Alice struggled, stumbling, to her feet a couple of hours later Sarah got up stiffly too and walked by her side. When Alice wordlessly slipped her arm through her friend’s for support Sarah’s head briefly tilted sideways to comfort her as they carried on back to Campbell Road.

‘My dad told me about your father being killed.’

Alice looked up at Josh. It was dusk but she could clearly read the sincere sympathy in his gentle grey gaze. She simply nodded and pressed together her lips. ‘I’m glad you’ve come back safe,’ she said. ‘I prayed every day for it.’

‘Thanks for writing to me. Have you finished for today?’

Alice nodded. ‘Yeah . . . I’m going home.’

‘It’s dark. Is it alright if I walk home with you?’

Alice hesitated in answering. He’d been waiting for her when she came out of the factory gate. She knew he’d returned from France. Mr Chaplin had told her. She’d been expecting that at some time she’d come through the gates and see him waiting for her.

It was late November and the troops were still returning. A great many had been back in time for the victory celebrations on Armistice Day earlier in the month.

Campbell Road had celebrated the wonderful news of the end of the war in its own inimitable way. At intervals Alice had watched the uproar from the window that overlooked the street: bonfires raging in the road; boozy singing and jigging around the barrel organ; children with pots and pans and spoons marching up and down from one end of the road to the other, drumming their joy that fathers and brothers had, or soon would, come home. It had carried on for more than two days before petering out.

Of course Alice was glad it was over. But she’d cried bitter tears too. Save for another eight months’ grace her dad and Geoff would’ve been back and she and her sisters and mother would have been out in the street with the others, the loudest singers, the liveliest jiggers.

But Josh had come back. He’d figured equally in her thoughts and prayers since he’d gone away.

‘Is it alright if I walk you home?’ Josh asked again. When Alice remained quiet he asked, ‘Are you waiting for your sister Beth to finish her shift? Or is it Annie you’re walking back with?’

‘No. It’s not that. Beth finished earlier than me. And Annie isn’t here now; she’s married.’ At Josh’s look of surprise she gave a small smile. ‘When Tommy got back they got married straight away.’

‘I’m pleased for them,’ Josh said.

‘Me too,’ Alice said softly. She paused. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to walk with you . . . it’s just that me mum’s probably going to be about and if she spots you . . .’ Alice glanced apologetically at him. ‘Since we lost me dad she’s worse than ever. Drinking all day sometimes, she is. She lost her job with Mr Keane because of it.’ Alice turned her head, feeling ashamed at what she’d admitted.

‘Well, that’s alright. Understandable that she’s distraught. I’ll stop with you on the corner of Paddington Street if you like.’

Alice gave him a small smile and nodded that she’d like to have his company in that case.

As they walked Josh said, ‘It must have been a terrible blow when you got news of your dad.’

‘Dreadful.’ The word emerged as a hoarse whisper.

‘Where did he fall?’

‘Hill sixty . . . that’s what we were told. Geoff . . . me best friend . . . was killed there too. I don’t know if they ever saw one another. I hope they did. I hope they were good company for one another.’

‘I hope so too,’ Josh said with a throb of sincerity. ‘I always liked to see a familiar face from back home, especially if it was a real surprise. You could reminisce about people and places you knew.’

‘They got on well.’ Alice slanted a look up at him. ‘Me dad liked him, and he liked me dad. Geoff worked in an outfitter’s shop. He gave me a gentleman’s silk scarf once that he’d got hold of. He said me dad could have it. He were kind and generous like that.’

‘Did your dad like it?’

‘Oh, yes, he did!’ Alice exclaimed with a smile. ‘He thought it was the best thing. He took it to France; said it were his lucky charm . . .’ Her voice tailed into silence and she turned her head.

‘I bet he felt lucky just having it with him. Bet every time he looked at it or touched it, it reminded him of all of you.’

‘He said something like that before he went and when he came back on leave.’

They had turned into Campbell Road and Alice slowed her pace as they approached her home. She groaned beneath her breath as she spied her mother silhouetted by a weak light burning behind their doorway. Tilly was leaning on the railings and beside her was Aunt Fran. Alice cursed louder when she realised her mother had spotted them. A moment later Tilly was swaying unsteadily in their direction. Even before she’d slurred a word Alice realised she’d been drinking.

‘So who the bleedin’ hell’s this then?’

Alice inwardly cringed and slipped an apologetic glance at Josh. ‘It’s Joshua Chaplin. He’s just walked home from the factory with me.’

‘Oh . . . has he? Well, now you’re home he can sling his hook.’

‘Mum!’ Alice began, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Keiver,’ Joshua said pleasantly but his eyes were drawn back to what, for him, was an odd sight. There was a piano standing in the gutter. Inhabitants of The Bunk were quite used to coming across items for sale stuck on the railings or in the road.

‘Pleased to meet me, are you?’ Tilly rasped. ‘Well, I ain’t pleased to meet you. So fuck off.’ Tilly grabbed at one of Alice’s arms and gave it a yank. ‘Indoors, you.’

Alice jerked back. She was furious at her mother’s disgraceful behaviour. She couldn’t have taken against Josh for any real reason. It was the first time they’d met, and he’d been more polite to her than she deserved.

She knew that her mother was being mean and nasty because she was afraid. Alice knew once she’d realised her dream of moving on it would leave her mother and sisters in financial trouble. Beth was bringing in regular money but the only work her mother now had was charring when she was sober enough to do it. The sight of Josh, returned from the war, had reminded her mother that once they’d been good friends and gone dancing together.

‘That looks like a good piano. Is it for sale?’

Tilly had been about to add to her uncouth remarks but instead her jaw clacked shut. Drunk or sober she was canny about cash. ‘Why? What’s it to you if it is?’ she demanded.

‘My brother’s been after getting a piano. He’s pretty good even though he taught himself to play. He often bashes a few songs out on the piano down the local pub.’ Josh looked at Tilly. ‘Is it yours?’

‘Belonged to me husband, Jack. He was real good on it. Got no use fer it now he’s gone, God rest his soul. Glad to see the back of it.’ Tilly roughly cuffed at her eyes as spontaneous tears blurred her vision.

Alice knew the piano’s presence at home upset her mum. Jack’s clothes had been sold off to Billy the Totter quite quickly and unemotionally. But the piano was different. It’d seemed to be a symbol of good times to Tilly. Sometimes, when in bed at night, Alice and her sisters could hear their mother weeping whilst plink-plonking on the keys and murmuring to her beloved Jack. That then set the three of them to quietly crying, huddling together in the dark.

‘Billy not turned up to take it?’ Alice asked her mum, glad to have a topic of conversation. A couple of the lads from across the street had got it down the stairs for them that morning for a few coppers. Billy had been due to collect and pay for it this afternoon. Alice had imagined it would be gone by the time she returned from work.

‘Course he turned up! He’s took it and brought it back, ain’t he,’ her mother snapped sarcastically.

‘I’ll have it off you,’ Josh said calmly. ‘Be nice at Christmas time to have a piano for a singsong.’

‘Want ten pound fer it,’ Tilly said immediately.

‘Mum!’ Alice protested. ‘Billy was going to give you four.’

‘Give you five,’ Josh said. ‘That’s fair. And as it’s Saturday tomorrow, I’ll bring round a cart and collect it.’

‘Done,’ Tilly said and stuck out a spittle-moistened hand.

Josh shook it without hesitation. He gave Alice a smile. ‘See you tomorrow, then. I’ll be early; about nine o’clock.’

‘Suits us,’ Tilly said.

‘Yes,’ Alice said. ‘Nine o’clock’ll be fine.’

With a small salute of farewell Josh turned and strode off briskly up the road.

The following morning Alice was up bright and early. She was peering out of the window at a quarter to nine and suddenly a smile curved her mouth. Josh was coming down the road, pushing a barrow.