Wartime Brides (11 page)

No one could, so he’d lost a stripe and got himself a beating plus relocation as a guard to a Prisoner of War camp.

‘I’m sure them Krauts will appreciate having you there seeing as there are not too many Jews around these parts!’

Some guys had thought it funny. They’d laughed, but he hadn’t cared. He’d thought he could handle it. And he would have done, too, if there’d been other black guys there. Instead, he was alone among whites. He had a room on his own, he ate on his own. The civilian staff that came in intermittently were his only respite, they and the prisoners.

The main bugbear was Mickey Noble. He was mean as a rattlesnake with just as small a brain, except for his memory that is. Noble, like an elephant, never forgot a perceived wrong.

Chapter Seven

IT WAS THE
Saturday before Christmas and Edna was alone when another parcel arrived.

For a while she stared at it, longing to rip it open and fondle its contents. She also longed to write to him, but simply didn’t have the courage.

When she could no longer face the parcel or her own cowardice, she reached for her coat and rushed out of the door.

She was going to marry Colin. Her son, Sherman, was going for adoption. Everything would be for the best and Colin need never know.

She ran down the avenue, her tears under control by the time she reached Colin’s house. Charlotte’s car was parked outside; no doubt she was once again checking on the progress of the toy Colin was making Geoffrey for Christmas. Well, that was fine. She could do with the company of someone who always seemed brave and able to cope with everyone else’s troubles.

Charlotte beamed at her the moment she entered the
room
. ‘Edna, darling. Look at this. Isn’t it wonderful! And how very sweet of you to name her after me.’

Balsa wood painted battleship grey, her details picked out in blackboard paint with a brush from a child’s prewar water-colour set, the Royal Navy destroyer
Charlotte
sat in a russet sea of chenille tablecloth on the dining table.

‘The only thing is, I thought I asked you for another aeroplane,’ Charlotte continued, her gloved hands folded tightly in front of her so her fur coat stayed firmly shut to the neck.

‘I figured boys are like men, Mrs Hennessey-White, in that they like a bit of variety!’ said Colin from the confines of his wheelchair, which had become a useful part of his toy-making since he could wheel it between each project he was working on.

Edna wanted to tell Charlotte that paint was hard to come by, unless you knew someone with access to army or navy supplies.

‘I see that I am not your only customer, Mr Smith,’ Charlotte went on. Her eyes took in the wooden horse awaiting its wheels, the submarine, and a brick trolley, all painted in the same battleship grey, the horse with black spots added, the submarine with detail, and the bricks with black spots and stripes. ‘Goodness, a real Santa’s grotto.’

‘That’s it. Santa’s got a sleigh and I’ve got one with wheels on,’ said Colin, his grin seeming to split his face in half and his hazel eyes bright with childish pride.

‘But he hasn’t got any reindeer,’ said Edna with a sheepish grin.

‘Which is just as well, ’cos it saves me picking up the poo!’

Edna felt her face reddening. The good-humoured but courteous Colin who had gone to war now cared little what he said or who he said it to. ‘Colin!’

‘Edna!’

This was another aspect of his recently acquired behaviour – aping an exclamation or, sometimes, an action.

‘No!’ he said suddenly, pushing hard at the wheels of the chair and wheeling away to the end of the table. ‘I’m not tall enough to be Santa, thanks to the Japanese navy. I’m more like one of his workshop elves.’

He laughed as he said it, but Edna was not fooled. His description was painfully apt. At present he vaguely resembled some goblin workman, dressed as he was in a knitted blue jumper that had stretched in the wash, was rolled up at the sleeves and almost covered what remained of his knees.

‘You have very skilled hands,’ Charlotte said as she picked the boat up. ‘I advise a lot of war veterans on how best to manage on their pension or what to do about setting up in business or in some sort of hobby. Do let me know if you need any extra assistance. I’m sure I can find the funding for you to take your skill further. I can probably find the customers too, though from what I see here,’ she said, nodding at a can of navy issue paint with an amused smile on her face, ‘you appear to be doing quite well without any help.’

Her face shone with enthusiasm. She’s like a lighthouse, thought Edna. The point to rush to when you were
tossed
in a storm. If only I had her courage. She wondered whether to tell her about the parcel and about Sherman. Perhaps her determined confidence might rub off and she’d bravely claim her child. But then, what would she tell Colin? And could she cope with hurting him?

Charlotte bent to pick up the boat. It was then that her coat fell open and the scarf around her neck came adrift.

‘Mind you don’t lose it,’ said Colin.

Charlotte put the boat down and retied the scarf hastily. It was the first time Edna had ever seen her look embarrassed and she wondered why.

‘I must be going,’ she said hurriedly and immediately turned to leave.

‘Ten shillings and sixpence!’ Colin shouted over his shoulder from the confines of his wheelchair.

Charlotte stopped in her tracks, her face flushed even more. ‘Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry.’

She put the wooden ship back down on the dining table and unclipped the silver clasp on her tan leather bag.

Once the money was jingling in Colin’s palm, Edna saw her to the door.

It was raining outside.

‘Silly me! I haven’t brought an umbrella,’ said Charlotte.

Both women stared for a moment at the drizzle falling from an iron-grey sky. It was hardly rain, more of a mist that left droplets shimmering on dead stalks and the crisp remnants of autumn leaves.

Once she’d regained her usual confidence, Charlotte asked her when she was getting married.

Edna blushed. ‘As soon as we’ve saved enough what with a dress and a going-away suit.’

‘My dear! I can offer you a most wonderful opportunity. The Red Cross is holding a Christmas bazaar and jumble sale at the Shaftesbury Crusade mission hall. It’s just off Old Market so there are buses. I can assure you the most wonderful clothes will be available. I have begged everyone I know to dig deep into their wardrobes and donate for a good cause. Now,’ she said, a pink glow warming her cheeks, ‘I won’t take no for an answer. And,’ she added, leaning closer as if imparting the most wicked of secrets, ‘I will ensure that something is put aside for you. Will you come?’

Edna thought about what her mother would say.

Charlotte continued, her face gleaming with almost missionary zeal. ‘There are good wool suits, some from the best fashion houses in London. Hats, shoes, handbags and dresses from Liberty.’

Edna had never heard of Liberty but didn’t let on.

Fully expecting Colin to be pleased at her news Edna went back into the room. Her jubilant expression froze on her face. Her fiancé sat very still in his chair, looking down at his hands. He wasn’t whistling or singing like he usually did when he was working or about to start doing so.

She told Colin all about it. ‘I won’t go if you don’t want me to,’ she said, automatically surrendering even before challenged, a matter of habit after living with her mother and father.

‘Up in Clifton, is it?’

Relieved that he seemed unconcerned, Edna nodded
vigorously
even though it was being held in Old Market, not Clifton at all.

‘You go, girl.’ He pointed his finger at her, a mischievous quirkiness playing around his lips. ‘That’s where all the Conservatives is and, if my old mum is telling the truth, Conservative jumbles got better quality chuck outs than Labour ’uns!’

Eyes shining, Edna clasped her hands together. This was her old Colin, the old common sense side by side with his chirpy sense of humour. Overcome with relief, she dived to his side and threw her arms around his neck. ‘You’re a right card, Colin Smith! And there was me thinking you were going to say I wasn’t to go.’

‘If Mrs Hennessey-White says you can find some frilly bits and pieces to wear on our honeymoon, it’s to my advantage, ain’t it?’

He grinned and lifted his eyebrows in a scandalously suggestive way that made Edna blush but also smile primly.

‘Poor woman,’ Colin went on. ‘Can’t help feeling sorry for her, can you?’

Edna almost burst out laughing. ‘Sorry for her? With a house in Clifton, her children at a posh school, and a cook and a cleaner to do her housework! Lucky, I’d call it!’

Colin shook his head and his earlier frown came back. ‘I wouldn’t treat you like that.’

Edna frowned. ‘Like what?’

He looked wistfully towards the window. The buds and flowers of a cream net curtain hung between the mellow cosiness of the room and the rank of bay villas on the
other
side of the street. Edna was not at all prepared for what he said next.

‘She’s got red marks around her neck. I think she’s got problems.’

It was Mrs Grey’s day off so Charlotte made breakfast. She could have got Nellie in, an amiable woman who came in to do the cleaning on occasion. But she didn’t want anyone else entering her world. It wasn’t the same as it had been and, in a strange way, she needed to keep it to herself until things were sorted out.

She needed to keep herself physically busy while she brooded on David and the frightening violence he’d shown towards her. Her hands shook slightly as she took the food into the dining room.

Light, whitened by an overnight frost and further frosted by sheer white nets, poured into the room from the floor to ceiling Georgian windows. Despite the warm reds of Turkish carpets and the gleam of richly polished wood, the room felt cold.

As though they’re all made of ice
, Charlotte thought, eyeing in turn her husband, her daughter and her son.

Cutlery moved from plate to mouth, cups were raised from saucers and replaced. The sounds tinkled like hollow silver bells.

If only David would take an interest in them like he used to. If only Geoffrey chattered like he used to, and if only Janet lolled over her father’s arm as he read his paper, unafraid of rebuke, revelling in the fact that she was his little angel. But nothing was like it used to be.

But it will be! It has to be!

Perhaps her husband needed help of some kind. But what and who would give it? No. He’d be all right. He’d surely be all right.

‘More toast?’ Even to her own ears the sound of her voice seemed an intrusion. It hurt to hear the mumbled ‘No thank you, mummy’ from her children, less hurtful to hear it from David who was reading
The Times
, a familiar action that had survived the war unscathed.

Charlotte poured him more coffee and buttered him more toast. It was subservient in a way, but small favours were what women had to do if they were to get what they wanted from their menfolk.

She turned to the children.

‘We might as well get on to school then, children.’ She glanced nervously at David, afraid he might notice it was a little too early. ‘Goodbye dear,’ she said kissing him on the head. ‘I’ll clear the dishes away when I get back.’

Heart thumping, she started to follow the children to the door where she intended to remark that they should kiss David goodbye. After all, he was their father.

She gasped as David grabbed her arm. ‘Just a minute.’

‘The children …’ she began, flustered because she was half-afraid he might guess where she was going after dropping them off. Working outside the home, whether voluntary or otherwise, was still a bone of contention between them. So far she had always been there in the mornings, at weekends and when he got home. He was assuming she had obeyed him. She had not.

Geoffrey and Janet were already at the door. Geoffrey looked nervous, his chin resting on his tie while he eyed his father from beneath a heavy brow. Janet looked openly defiant, her eyes wide and her pupils large and staring;
as if she’s trying to understand him – and remember how it used to be
.

‘Get your school things and wait for your mother by the front door,’ said David without relinquishing the grip on her arm.

‘David, they’ll be late.’ She made the effort to smile. Inside she was all nerves.

‘Well, they won’t be for much longer. I’ve decided that it was a bad move to have them educated at a day school. It’s a hard world out there and they have to be prepared to face it. I think the time has come for them to board.’

‘Boarding school?’

Charlotte’s worst fear! Her children snatched from her loving, responsible bosom and thrust into a cloistered atmosphere where self-reliance was paraded as a virtue simply because it was the only option available to the lonely souls left there.

‘The best education for life, my dear. I went through it. And so did you. Can you honestly say it did you any harm?’

As she looked down at his hawk-like features, the dark, deep set eyes, the black hair that slicked flatly back from his high forehead, memories of schooldays flooded back.

Cold mornings rushing to wash in even colder water, the smell of chalk mixed with that of sweaty hockey boots and stale cooking, and the dark varnish plastered on
Victorian
rafters that made you feel you were trapped in some subterranean prison. A rabble of girls who might or might not get on together, who might be homesick, lovesick, or just sick of trying to prove they had some worth. Adopting an air of confidence, of making an effort to appear above it all, had drawn others to her. In helping them she had also helped herself. Yes, it had made her stronger, but it was an experience she had no wish to repeat.

David was still talking. ‘And if they are at boarding school, you won’t need the car, my dear. You can be a full-time house wife and spend all your time looking after me.’

‘The car?’

She thought of all the things she depended on the car for: the orphanage, the Red Cross fund-raising sales, going off to give advice at the Resettlement Centre. And soon, she’d be going out to the POW camp to help those imprisoned readjust to a new world, wherever theirs might be.