Wartime Brides (32 page)

‘And besides helping you I can do more for Charlotte,’ Edna added. She held her breath, half-afraid that Colin would revert to being suspicious about Billy. ‘I can go
with
Charlotte or I can get a bus if need be,’ she added in an attempt to calm his fears.

‘And take me to the hospital?’ He looked suddenly sheepish.

She agreed that she would and because it embarrassed him, she didn’t mention the sores he got on his behind from sitting in the wheelchair all day. Bluff and jolly as he could be, Colin was also pretty sensitive about personal things.

It pleased her to give a week’s notice. At the end of it she felt as free as a bird and by Saturday the workshop was stuffed full of wooden toys waiting to be painted or polished. All the same, Colin raised no objection to her visiting the orphanage, especially when he saw Charlotte pull up to take her there.

Unable to control her excitement, Edna babbled on about giving up work and joining Colin in his venture. Charlotte was mightily impressed.

‘Does this mean you won’t be helping me so much?’ she asked.

Edna’s mousy brown hair flew round her face as she shook her head. ‘Try and stop me!’

Charlotte smiled knowingly.

The day was perfect as far as Edna was concerned. Whatever the future might hold, Colin was in a better mood and she was going to see her baby today.

Charlotte went to Matron’s office with the clothes and Edna marched off to the nursery, patting the heads of small five- and six-year-olds as she went.

‘Good morning, children!’

Humming happily to herself, she swept into the nursery and went directly to Sherman’s cot.

It was empty.

She froze. There must be some mistake. Perhaps she had the wrong cot!

Whirling dizzyingly from one cot to another, she looked over the wooden railings at babies, some white, and some coffee brown, some almost black. None of them were hers.

‘Where is he?’ she wailed. ‘Where is he?’ A baby in a cold metal cot near the window started crying too: then another and another.

Polly was out at the sink in the kitchen scrubbing Carol’s clothes. A galvanised tub full of water bubbled away on the gas sending white cotton garments ballooning to the surface. Hardly a welcoming sight and an embarrassment to Polly when Meg showed Charlotte in.

Polly blinked, wishing she was at least sitting in the living room and wearing a decent frock instead of the old blue cotton number reserved for doing housework. What a contrast to Charlotte’s outfit: a black suit trimmed with white. White stripes started at the waist and ended just below her breasts. A white cockade decorated the right side of her hat. Black and white: Polly’s own colours.

‘Take a seat, Mrs Hennessey-White. Can I offer you a cuppa?’ asked Meg.

‘That would be nice.’

Polly pulled out a chair and Charlotte sat down.

Polly controlled the jealousy she felt over Charlotte’s
impeccable
dress sense. This was a serious occasion. Was Charlotte going to name her in a divorce case? My God, but she didn’t want that. She had Carol to think about.

But Charlotte didn’t look spiteful, though looks could be deceiving. In fact, her face was paler than usual and she looked tense. Not that she was feeling much different herself. Charlotte had come to talk about David, of that she was sure.

‘I’ll come back when the kettle’s boiled,’ said Meg.

‘There’s no need to leave,’ said Charlotte turning her face up to Meg. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her cheekbones were more pronounced and there was a strangely remorseful expression in her eyes.

‘All the same,’ said Meg and left the room.

Polly stared hard in an effort to see through the woman, to somehow determine the underlying motive. Charlotte, the woman who helped everyone, now looked in need of help herself. So what had she come for?

Charlotte’s soft, grey eyes met hers. It was difficult to meet her gaze so she got up, went to the dresser and got down three cups and saucers. One had roses on it. The others were plain and the saucers were assorted. Why aren’t there any matching ones, she thought despairingly. Whatever would Charlotte think of them, this house, Aunty Meg with her sloppy slippers?

‘I wanted to talk about David,’ said Charlotte.

‘Well! I didn’t think you’d come here to ask how I was!’ She purposely sounded flippant, her old cocky self, as she put the crockery down on the table with her own fair hands. Only they weren’t fair. They were red from
scrubbing
and wringing. Quickly she rolled down her sleeves as far as they’d go.

‘Obviously I’ve been terribly concerned,’ said Charlotte. ‘What he did to you was unforgivable.’

‘Must have spoke out of turn!’ said Polly as she sifted two scoops of tea into the pot. ‘Anyway, why talk to me about him? You know him better than me.’

‘David is ill.’

‘It’s not my fault.’ Polly turned off the gas then poured the boiling water into the pot.

‘I didn’t say it was.’

Polly looked at her defiantly. ‘So what have you come here for?’

Charlotte sighed and rubbed her forehead. ‘Because he’s still behaving the same. You might be able to bring some light to bear on the reason for him acting the way he does.’

Polly frowned. What would she know about David that his wife didn’t?

Charlotte went on, ‘Something happened to him during the war. He might have mentioned something to you. Do you remember?’

Polly stared at the woman she had wronged and a great surge of guilt flowed over her. But Polly hated to be cast as a wrongdoer. She wronged you in the first place, she reminded herself. It was her that got Aaron shipped back to the States. But it was no good. She couldn’t hate her. She never really had.

‘I don’t think so …’ she began.

The look on Charlotte’s face was so intense it made
her
think harder. What sort of things had he said to her? Some of them, along with his rough behaviour, were best forgotten. But things he’d said about the war?

‘Bodies with no heads!’ She paused and waited for Charlotte’s reaction. Her expression betrayed her hurt.

‘Go on.’

‘Legs being blown off. Arms being blown off.’ Polly collected her thoughts. ‘Oh, and carrying a man back to the hospital then realising when he got there that the man had no head. I nearly ended up the same meself the way he hit me about. But there you are. I kept me head and lost me man. Aaron. Do you remember him?’

They fell into an awkward silence. It was Meg who broke it.

‘All right if I have that cup of tea now?’

Polly guessed that she’d been outside the door listening, waiting to see if things got ugly or if her presence was needed to lighten the proceedings. She felt more grateful to her than ever.

Charlotte looked nervous suddenly. ‘I have one more thing to show you before I go.’

Polly watched as she opened her handbag. She took the letter that was offered. ‘From Aaron?’ she asked raising her eyebrows questioningly.

Charlotte shook her head and looked down into her lap. ‘From his parents. Someone at the Prisoner of War camp got their address for me. He seemed concerned about Aaron. It appears from that letter that he had every right
to
be.’ She had no wish to mention who had given her the address.

As Polly read it, her eyes filled with tears and a terrible anger rose in her chest. Meg’s hand touching her arm made her jump.

‘Read it out loud,’ Meg said. ‘If you can, luv.’

Polly paused a moment, then did.

My dear Mrs Hennessey-White
,

It is with great regret that I have to tell you that my son, Aaron Washington Grant, was sent home to us suffering from severe kidney damage, a punctured lung plus terminal brain damage
.

These injuries were said to have been inflicted by a gang of enemy prisoners of war who he was, at that time, guarding
.

Perhaps you could pass on our most sincere wishes to Polly and tell her we are glad he found someone who cared for him
.

Although our son, a young man with a bright future ahead of him, was taken from us, we hold no malice towards those concerned
.

Yours truly

John Smithson Grant

For a while all three women sat there, each trying to control the sobs in their throats. Eyes were misted. Fists clenched tightly.

‘Bloody Krauts!’ spat Meg.

Charlotte got to her feet and blew her nose. She had no
wish
to hear that kind of comment. Josef wouldn’t do something like that. ‘I’d better be going. I’ve got some clothes to collect from one of my sewing ladies. They’re for the orphanage.’

‘Poor little mites,’ said Meg, her face sad with genuine sympathy before it brightened. ‘But at least we kept our Carol. Wrong side of the blanket she may be, but then, there’s no guarantee of happiness with a wedding band, is there?’

Charlotte winced. Meg seemed not to notice.

If Polly noticed she said nothing. Suddenly she had a great need to make things up to her. In one stupid moment she had almost alienated a true friend. She instinctively touched her arm – a signal of reconciliation – as she took her to the door. Meg followed.

‘Thanks for finding out what really happened.’

‘It was nothing.’ Charlotte frowned. ‘I just wonder why the CO didn’t tell me this had happened.’

Polly made a great effort to say some words that she’d rarely said before. ‘I’m sorry I shouted to you about interfering. It wasn’t right.’

‘Never mind,’ said Charlotte and walked out the door.

The street outside was full of noise and activity. Kids with dirty faces and patched clothes were climbing all over Charlotte’s car. The windows were a mass of sticky finger marks and scuffed boots were making squeaking noises as they scratched the roof and bonnet.

‘Please! No!’ Charlotte waved her hands as she might at a lone wasp.

Polly was more vocal. ‘Oi! Get off of there, you load of
lousy
monkeys!’ She got there first, pushing them off with a few well-aimed slaps on ill-protected behinds.

One yelled as she grabbed the back of his pullover and jerked him backwards. With her free hand she gripped the ear of another. He yelled even louder than the first kid. The rest ran off shouting insults and making faces as they went.

‘Take yer bleedin’ ’ands off my Eric!’

Polly recognised the voice and simmered with anger. Iris Trent was marching towards her, rolling up her sleeves and exposing brawny arms.

Polly turned to face Iris. ‘Take the little bugger! This one too!’ Spinning round on her heel she flung both boys away from her. One stumbled into the gutter. Eric collided with his mother’s stomach.

‘Local ragamuffins,’ Polly explained to Charlotte who she had expected to look quite shocked at her outburst. Instead she looked amused.

But the boy’s mother wasn’t finished yet. ‘Better than being a bastard!’ shouted Iris Trent.

There was no way she would let her get away with that! Aware that neighbours were spilling out into the street and that kids were hanging out of bedroom windows, Polly turned to face the foe.

‘You fat cow!’ Polly clenched her fists.

‘Cheap tart!’

‘That’s it,’ growled Polly, taking slow steps towards her adversary. ‘Just keep calling me names.’ She felt excited! Ecstatic! Nothing would give her greater pleasure than to punch the fat face of the woman
who’d
stopped her from getting the job at Edwards & Ringers.

Polly took her measure. Iris was big but she judged she wasn’t so quick.

Iris lunged. Polly sidestepped and Iris hit the floor. The crowd roared with delight. This was entertainment. Usually the wireless was all they had unless they could afford a night at the pictures. Because the houses were still gas-lit, everyone tried to conserve the batteries. Saturday morning was the time when the accumulators were taken up the garage for recharging.

‘I’ll ’ave you, you bloody whore!’ spat Iris as she got to her feet.

She held her arms out from her sides. Her hands were clawed ready to tear at Polly’s hair.

Polly crouched slightly. She had no intention of letting Iris get anywhere near her.

After a few catcalls, the crowd fell silent. Meg put a restraining hand on Charlotte’s arm. Polly guessed she had suggested talking reasonably to the woman. Meg knew otherwise. Women like Iris Trent were not famous for being reasonable. They liked to feel they had some status all right, but it was the sort they got from opening their big gobs and throwing their weight about. Iris Trent was certainly guilty of the former and had plenty of the latter.

‘Right,’ growled Iris, ‘I’m coming for yer!’

It was a stupid thing to say. Polly was warned and therefore was ready. As Iris leaned forward and charged, Polly sidestepped again, but this time left one foot behind.
Iris
tripped but didn’t fall. Instead she staggered forward, arms flailing, head falling further down. And she was going too fast to stop.

A gasp went up from all assembled as, like a bull dressed for carnival, she went full pelt. There was the sound of a dull thud as her head connected with the spare wheel case on the back of Charlotte’s car. She staggered, then fell flat on her back, her body wobbling like a well-set jelly as she hit the ground.

The crowd clapped and cheered. Even Eric Trent, the originator of the problem, rested his hands on his knees, looked down into his mother’s face and said, ‘Cor! She’s out cold!’ Then he looked up at Polly, admiration shining in his eyes. ‘How did you do that, then?’

Without answering she went to where Meg and Charlotte were standing. ‘Sorry about the dent,’ she said to Charlotte.

A little shell shocked, Charlotte merely nodded silently. Never seen anything like it, thought Polly. She asked her, ‘Don’t get posh women in Clifton squabbling over kids, do you?’

‘No,’ Charlotte replied. ‘They’re mostly away at boarding school.’

Polly wasn’t so forgiving of Charlotte that she couldn’t make a comment.

‘Posh women ain’t got much to do then, ’ave they?’

Charlotte didn’t rise to the remark. There were more important things on her mind than scoring points. Her gloved hand folded over her arm.