Wartime Brides (25 page)

Even David managed a forced smile.

Charlotte felt happier that night than she had for a long time. Perhaps things with David really were getting better. They were like a family again. But at the back of her mind there was Josef and a wonderful night when the only person to benefit from her action was herself.

Later she put on her favourite nightdress, a satin, biascut affair that was formed around the bust and edged with Nottingham lace.

As David used the bathroom in the next room along the landing, she brushed her hair and dabbed perfume behind her ears. I don’t look like a long-married woman, she thought to herself as she studied her reflection. There are a few lines, but not enough to worry about.

Thinking about wrinkles made her study the grey eyes that looked back out at her. They sparkled. Perhaps it was the lights. She looked at the room beyond her reflection. The bedside lights were on. The bedclothes were spread neat and tidy over the matrimonial bed. Yet Charlotte wasn’t seeing them. For a brief moment, she saw herself with Josef’s naked arms entwined around her shoulders, his mouth on hers. Her thoughts left her tingling as a hot flush seeped from her face to her neck.

Why had she done it? All through the war she’d been faithful to her absent husband. Many had not been. Why had she left it until now?

She hadn’t seen Josef alone for over a month. Unless it was a trustee meeting, she only delivered the baby clothes on a Saturday afternoon with Edna. She’d told herself it was best that way. And Edna was always desperate to
come
. So far Charlotte had not spoken to Edna about Sherman. She had her own problems and they were in her own life, in her own bedroom.

Again she fixed her eyes on the bed and shivered with pleasure. The memory of what she had done would be there each time she eyed the green flowers that formed the centre of the satin-covered eiderdown. And each time she slid between the crisp cotton sheets she would feel his legs entwining with hers.

David entered. The vision melted. She forced herself to be cheerful and hoped her brightness did not seem brittle. ‘Isn’t it wonderful to have the children home, David?’ At the same time she nervously dabbed more perfume behind her ears.

He grunted and pulled back the bedclothes.

Charlotte turned on her stool to face him. ‘They miss us you know. Especially you, darling. I mean, you’ve been away so long,’ she added hurriedly.

He sat on the side of the bed and took off his watch. ‘I suppose so.’ He looked tired. She hoped he was. Intercourse with him remained unattractive.

‘I would like them at home again,’ she blurted. ‘Now that you’re so much better …’

She froze. Judging by his expression it was the worst thing she could have said. ‘Are you saying I’ve been ill?’

He got up and walked towards her, stood between her and the bed, her and the vision of a different man, a different time.

‘It’s the war!’ She said it quickly as if it would be enough to placate him.

Nerves taut, head erect, she sat on the stool, waiting for the blow, the slap to the face or the head. It still happened – occasionally.

‘Get to bed, woman!’

Obedience was easy if it meant the blow wouldn’t come. She got up and walked to the bed. He pushed her onto the eiderdown before she had a chance to pull back the bedclothes.

She turned her face away from him, unable to stomach the look in his eyes, the roughness of his hands.

Her mind screamed.

Why is he doing this?

She had told herself he was better, that the children could come home and things would be fine. Now she wasn’t so sure. The soft satin she adored was ripped away from her body. When would the nightmare end? She told herself it would, that there was no point in telling anyone about it. It would pass. There was no need for anyone else to know. It was just the war and he was sure to get better in time.

Polly pushed open the door of The Swan With Two Necks, a small pub not far from Old Market. The smell of cigarette ash and stale beer spewed out to meet her. Once she’d coped with the sting of the smoke, she got her bearings and looked for Mavis.
For old times’ sake
, Mavis had said when she’d seen her at the corner of York Street. But Polly knew it had to be more than that. What sort of trouble had she got herself into?

Once she could focus, she saw Mavis waving. She was
sitting
at a tripod table, the top of which was held in place with cast-iron Britannias at the top of each leg.

‘I got you a half of bitter,’ said Mavis indicating the brimming glass already on the table. ‘Me purse don’t run to a port and lemon.’

Polly grimaced. ‘It’ll do I suppose.’ She looked around her. ‘What did you want to see me about?’

Mavis grinned and nodded. ‘It wasn’t me that wanted to see you. It was ’im.’ She nodded towards a table in the corner.

Polly recognised Billy Hills. ‘What does he want?’

Mavis stared at her. ‘My, but ain’t you the posh one. Can see you spend more time in Clifton than you do round ’ere.’

‘Do you blame me?’ said Polly as she got up from the chair. ‘Who wants to stay around this dump?’

Mavis raised her eyebrows. ‘Charmed I’m sure, but I ain’t toffee nosed. I know my place.’

But Polly wasn’t interested. She wished she hadn’t come and had never expected to feel such an outsider as she did.

Billy stood up politely when she got to the table and pulled out a chair for her. Polly regarded him with undisguised contempt. What did he have to offer compared to a doctor with a private practice in Clifton? After all, he did fancy her, didn’t he? This was what it was all about?

‘I told ’er to get you a port and lemon,’ said Billy, noticing the half of bitter she’d brought with her.

‘She reckoned she didn’t have the money.’

‘Cheeky cow! She kept the change.’

He half got up and looked over to where Mavis had been sitting. Only an empty chair and an equally empty glass remained.

‘No matter.’ He turned back to her, his fingers tangling nervously together on the table.

Polly cocked her head, remained mute and waited for him to speak. What did the little squirt want?

Nervously he swigged at his beer. ‘I met your brother-in-law, Bert, the other day. Asked if I was interested in some fags he’d got from a docker he knows.’

Polly went cold. Up until now she’d regarded herself as superior to the likes of Billy Hills. It was easy to be contemptuous of someone when you knew a bit about them. But when they knew a bit about you, well, that was different. But she stayed calm. ‘So?’

‘Well, ’e told me about the house being so crowded and you having a kid an’ all an’ bein’ short of money …’

‘I don’t do favours!’

He looked visibly shaken. ‘I didn’t think you did. I weren’t finking of anything like that, honest!’

Polly pursed her lips. She didn’t want to be here. She never wanted to be in this neck of the woods again, and when she got hold of Bertie …

‘It’s just that …’ Billy paused, looked up at her from under his bushy eyebrows then looked bashfully away. ‘Well, I’m all alone an’ I’ve got this house me old man left me. Used to be in scrap metal ’e did. Would have made a killing now, wouldn’t ’e, with all they old tanks and stuff not wanted any more.’

Polly was getting impatient. ‘What about this house?’

Billy licked the dryness from his lips. ‘It’s like this, it’s a big house, too big for me. I need a housekeeper.’

‘Now look here!’ said Polly starting to rise, heads turning in their direction.

‘No! No!’ said Billy, his hand grabbing hers. ‘It’s not like that. It’s all above board. Honest it is.’

Polly snatched her hand away. ‘Oh, is it now?’

‘I just want someone to look after the place, that an’ provide a bit of company for me mother.’

‘Your mother! What do you bloody take me for?’

Billy shook his head. ‘Look. It’s a big place, so if you’re interested …’ He searched her face for a reaction.

Polly’s expression didn’t alter. Billy looked away. ‘Sorry I asked. I just thought …’

Polly sprang to her feet. ‘Well you thought wrong. I’m not a bloody housekeeper! Nor a damned skivvy! I’m a receptionist up in Clifton. That’s what I am!’

She started to make for the door. Billy grabbed hold of her arm. ‘If you want to think it over …’

Polly shook him off. It did occur to her to shout at him that he was nothing better than a pimp. The bar was crowded and it would have satisfied her ego no end. But as she turned to do that a sudden thought entered her head.

What if Meg insisted on her leaving before she was ready? What if she needed somewhere to live at some time? So she buttoned her lip and left the door swinging behind her between the fresh air and the fug within.

*

It was Saturday evening and there was smoked haddock for tea.

‘Charlotte’s going on holiday,’ Edna said to Colin as she sliced bread from a dull grey loaf and spread butter sparingly.

‘Thought she’d have took us with her,’ said Colin jokingly. ‘Blimey, what a let down! Where’s she going?’

‘Devon. They’ve got a cottage there.’

‘I bet. Probably more like a mansion.’

Edna had already thought out what she was going to say. ‘I’ll be taking the clothes out to the orphanage while she’s away. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Do I have a choice?’ he said at the same time as picking up the evening paper.

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Well, there we are,’ he retorted with a laugh. ‘I’m already a henpecked husband.’

Edna kissed him on the top of his head. He wrapped his arm around her waist and dragged her close. ‘Now what was that for?’

‘Because you’re nice and Charlotte’s nice.’

‘Can’t say the same for her old man,’ said Colin. ‘Not that I’ve ever met him but I have seen the bruises on her neck.’

‘Of course you’ve met him. He was at our wedding. Remember?’

Colin let the paper drop to the floor. ‘Oh yes. The one drooling over brassy Polly.’

‘Colin! She’s not brassy.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not now she isn’t. Wonder why?’

Edna blushed and turned away. During the next few weeks she intended broaching the subject of Sherman though quite how to do it she wasn’t yet sure. But would Colin then think she was as common as Polly? She didn’t like secrets yet they seemed to be piling up. David and Polly’s intimate embrace was still clear in her mind. Would it be fair to tell Charlotte about it or fairer not to? It was a difficult decision and one she’d have to sleep on.

She was waiting for the bus to take her to the orphanage when Billy Hills drew up in his van.

‘Wanna lift?’

She told him where she was going. It was a few miles further than he’d thought but he still insisted she hop in complete with her bundles and bags.

‘It’s a nice day for driving anyway,’ he said, ‘and everything’s going my way.’

He whistled as he drove and Edna couldn’t help wondering if he’d got anywhere with Polly. It was easy to see he was sweet on her. She made a point of asking him.

He smiled secretively and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Could be but then there’s Betty. I said, ’ow would you like to move in with me and be me sweetheart, and Betty said …’

Edna’s mouth dropped open. ‘Betty who?’

‘Grable of course!’

‘Oh Billy.’

He leaned closer. ‘There’s something good in the pipeline for us all. I’ll be up to talk to Colin about it before
very
long. An’ you make sure you’re there. It’ll excite you. I know it will.’

The words flew over her head. As they pulled into the drive that led up to the front of the orphanage, Edna’s eyes fixed on the door. Beyond that was her baby. He was in her mind more and more nowadays and it was affecting her work. Although Mr Gordon was behaving himself following a quiet word from someone higher up, he had pulled her aside to mention that she was making far too many mistakes. If she didn’t smarten up he’d have to give her a written warning. She had promised to do better but it wasn’t easy to forget your own flesh and blood.

The pristine corridor of the orphanage echoed to her footsteps. Sherman was ahead of her. Sherman would be glad to see her, his little mouth smiling and his eyes bright with excitement.

‘Miss Burbage!’

Edna stopped and turned to face the wide bosom and small stature of Matron.

Matron nodded a greeting. ‘Could you come into my office for a moment?’

Edna followed her in, the bags of clothes and other things bumping against her legs.

Matron closed the door behind her and bade her sit down. She herself sat in the chair behind a light oak desk. A dark blue blind was pulled halfway down the window behind her, making her vaguely resemble an overweight Madonna.

‘Before I say anything else, Miss Burbage, I have to tell you that your secret is safe with me.’

Edna put down her bags and stared wide-eyed at the woman across from her.

‘I recognised your name,’ Matron went on. ‘Even if I hadn’t, I would have known Sherman was your son the way you held on to him.’

Edna stiffened. ‘Does this mean you’ll stop me seeing him?’

Matron looked thoughtfully at her hands. ‘No. But you do realise that all these babies are available for adoption.’ Of course she knew! Fear squeezing her insides, Edna leaned forward, her fingers gripping the desk edge for support. ‘But surely the white babies go first?’

Matron nodded. ‘That’s true. But Sherman isn’t too dark. His day may come. Then what are you going to do?’

Edna shook with desperation. Adoption! She knew it was likely but had ignored it up until now.

‘Until he does get adopted you can continue to see him. But I felt I had to point this out to you. It is likely that someone may offer and, remember, you did give your baby up for adoption shortly after he was born.’

Edna shook her head emphatically. ‘No! No! I didn’t. My mother made me do it. I didn’t want to have him adopted!’

Matron sat back in her chair and shook her head sadly. ‘You and a thousand others. Adolf Hitler has a lot to answer for.’

‘His father wouldn’t want it either!’

‘How do you know that?’ said Matron, then stopped. ‘Ah! The parcels! I believe your mother knows Mrs Grey who works for Mrs Hennessey-White.’