Women on the Home Front (135 page)

Telling lies was not in her nature; white lies told to protect the good Winstanley name were a burden she must bear to preserve their respectability. Surely that wasn’t a debit on her Eternal account? They were honourable lies, she argued.

‘Oh Lord!’ she prayed. ‘You’d better balance my books yourself. It’s not easy. Show me the way to righteousness.’

Lily handed over the child into Esme’s arms, the Concertina child who bore the name she had always hated but hadn’t the heart to confess. She plonked her down in the playpen again to a wail of protests just as Ana came in from the hall with Levi, back from the stall.

‘What is Dina doing in the cage? I told you, no cages. I see too many cages in war. Cages no good for children.’ Ana pulled her out again and the child, hot and bothered, looked pleased.

Suddenly Esme caught a glimpse of Freddie, defiant and naughty, with those blue eyes looking up at her. It was like seeing a ghost.

‘I have to keep her under control for her own good. She might put something in her mouth,’ she argued, but Ana was angry, her eyes flashing.

‘She is my baby. Dina is too big for a cage.’

‘Don’t you talk to Mother like that,’ said Ivy. ‘Does she argue with customers like this? They won’t understand a word she says.’

Levi shrugged and left the room, not wanting to get involved in the bickering of women. Ana was jabbering away to the child in Greek.

Esme’s heart lurched to see Freddie in the girl. How could she let this bit of him go, perhaps never to see her again? How could this bit of her son grow up never knowing her granny? There would only be Neville left, and he looked just like Ivy with curls.

‘I wish you would speak English so we can all join in,’ Esme said with a sniff. ‘Speaking two languages must confuse the child. We don’t want her in the backward school.’

Susan had taken her teaching certificate to the Education Department Office to find work with a nursery unit. She was no trouble. Susan had British manners and a politeness that charmed people, and she knew her place.

‘We speak home tongue to them and you speak your tongue and they know which is which,’ said Ana with defiance. This one didn’t know her place yet. There was something rock-like in those green eyes that could not be moved. ‘Konstandina is forward girl, not backward girl. You see.’

All this argy-bargy was making her head spin. Perhaps the kiddie was too old for a playpen after all. It was too strange and she was frightened. The bairn had had so many changes in her life.

‘I am trying to make Concertina safe from fire, and from Neville when he’s got a mood on him,’ Esme mouthed slowly. ‘I have to get on with my jobs. I am not a nursemaid,’ she said, and hoped it would be the end of the matter.

‘I know. You good woman but my Dina must be free to explore. Susan says it is good for children to explore.
In my country they had white sand and green hills and fields to play in, plenty of aunties and uncles to watch over them,’ Ana sighed.

‘Well, this is Grimbleton and my house, and I don’t want any more ornaments being shovelled into the bin. You need eyes in the back of your head, Anastasia, with that one.’ There it was said. ‘She will have to go into a nursery if this carries on.’

‘I take her to watch dancing class soon,’ Ana smiled, and went to make herself a cup of tea with no milk.

‘Never, she’s nobbut a baby still,’ Esme said. Where did this girl get these notions from?

‘Maria is taking Rosa, and Susan think good to let girls dance to music. What Joy has, Dina must have,’ she said, looking pleased with herself.

That’ll be a waste of money, lass, the kiddy can’t even walk yet, she thought, but for once she bit her tongue. It was a struggle but it would look good in her Eternal account book. Joy was a pudding, a lump of lard. How a tiny bird like Susan could produce such a round thing was way beyond her but the Winstanleys were big-boned and hefty.

‘Whatever you like,’ she managed. ‘But you’ll have to pay for it yourself.’ It was a struggle to keep her gob buttoned up when Ivy was hovering, looking daggers.

‘I do extra on Saturday for Levi. I find another job but it not easy,’ Ana added.

‘As long as you’re trying, that’s all we ask,’ Esme said, knowing she could not ask when they were leaving now.

Ivy was sitting with a face like thunder and when Ana left the room she was waiting to pounce.

‘You’ll never get rid of them now! Dancing classes, would you credit it? Where do they get their fancy ideas from? “Lemody Liptrot School of Dance” indeed. I remember when she was plain Lizzie Liptrot, the fishmonger’s daughter, who went on the stage and came back full of airs and graces and a plum in her mouth. I saw her advert in the
Mercury:
Greek dancing, tap dancing and ballet. It’ll give them ideas,’ she argued.

‘I thought you were the one for big ideas.’ Esme couldn’t resist the jibe, seeing Ivy so put out. ‘It’ll keep them out of mischief. I expect it teaches girls to hold themselves proper and understand rhythm.’

‘Little show-offs is what you’ll get,’ snapped Ivy. ‘Prancing about like Shirley Temple, and you don’t hold with all them theatricals.’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps Neville could go and be the next Fred Astaire. Now
he
had a good sense of rhythm. I don’t hold with all that lovey-dovey stuff, but him and Ginger Rogers could fair move across the floor. That’s healthy and wholesome, gets your lungs working and heart pumping,’ she argued. She wasn’t too old to recall the thrill of a bit of romance.

Ivy was looking up with raised eyebrows. ‘I’m going to send our Neville for elocution lessons when he’s older so he can better himself.’

Esme could see that she had sown a seed of interest. There was nothing Ivy would not do to make Neville stand out from the crowd.

It was after tea was cleared away that the two girls hovered behind Esme and followed her into the sitting room
where she liked to listen to the wireless and knit without interruption. It was her time of day for a bit of peace and quiet with a good book on her lap. They closed the door behind them and she wondered what was coming next. They always hunted in pairs, waiting until Ivy and Levi had gone to the pictures so she would be on her own, vulnerable to their pleas with no Ivy to bat off their suggestions. They sat down opposite and smiled. She tried to keep her Eternal account book in mind.

‘Daw Winstanley,’ said Susan, using her most polite term of address. ‘We want to ask your advice.’

Esme sighed with relief, relaxing into the chair. Giving advice was what she was good at. ‘Oh, yes? How can I help?’ she smiled.

‘It is our new friend, Maria. She is having a very bad time. Her husband is very sick in the sanatorium. She has been very kind to us. She has made us dinner many times.’

‘So she should do. She cost you our pram
and
a taxi fare.’

‘But she found us a new pushchair from her sister-in-law,’ Susan was quick to defend her friend.

‘And we had to scrub it with Lysol it was so greasy. It must have been dipped in the fish fryer,’ she replied. Ivy had scoured it for nits and other nasties, and refused to let Neville near it for fear of germs but it was not a bad go-chair. It collapsed and took up less room in the hall, and they could squash the two kids in at a pinch.

‘Every Sunday she cooks pasta for us-spaghetti-and we have ice cream and tinned fruit. How do we
say thank you?’ Ana asked, her eyelashes blinking as she leaned forward hanging on the coming words. ‘It is polite to return gift with gift, yes?’

Esme was trapped if she said no. It would look as if she was condoning bad manners. If she said yes…oh heck, they’d caught her in their net but not without a struggle.

‘You can repay the dinners by taking her out for another meal in a café as a thank you,’ she said, hoping that would satisfy.

‘Yes…but it would be as you say, busman’s vacation?’ said Susan, so sweetly that Esme hardly felt the hook turning as she wriggled.

‘So what are you suggesting?’ she said, knowing their request was better laid flat on the table.

‘Can we cook a meal for Maria here, one Saturday evening after work? She can find someone to finish off her shift and she can catch the bus to visit Marco and come for her tea. It would be a big thank you,’ Susan said hurriedly.

‘You want to use my kitchen and my dining room and cook…foreign stuff for her?’ Esme gasped, knowing they had hooked her good and proper.

‘We cook for everyone, big thank you meal for all of you too,’ Susan added, glancing up as Lily appeared.

‘What a lovely idea,’ Lily smiled, looking hopefully in her direction. ‘A sort of thanksgiving-cum-Christmas meal all rolled into one.’

It was time to give her daughter one of those withering ‘you’re letting the family down’ looks.

‘We like our dinner cooked at lunchtime. Tea time
is tea time and nothing fancy in the evening to talk back to me in the night.’

They must know the strict rotation of meals by now. Roast after church on Sunday, leftovers cold on Monday, rissoles on Tuesday, mince on Wednesday, fish on Thursday when the fish van called. Potato pie on Friday and pasties from town on Saturday. It didn’t do to change routine.

Then she saw the blessed Eternal audit hovering high in the corner of the room. It would be good to score up another credit. Be generous and accommodating for once, she mused.

Let them try entertaining company on rations. It was not as easy as they thought.

‘You’d have to use your own rations. I don’t hold with fancy food but you can have my kitchen if you give plenty of advance notice. I don’t know what Ivy will say. It’s her kitchen too.’

‘But you all come to our meal, Ivy and Lily, all are invited,’ said Ana.

‘Then you’ll need everyone’s meat ration but I don’t want any funny smells wafting down the street,’ Esme said, knowing there would be hell to pay when Ivy got home.

‘Thank you, thank you,’ the widows shouted in unison, and jumped up and down as if they had been given the Crown Jewels. ‘We make special dinner for everyone and we have singing and dancing. You will like Maria.’

‘I’m sure for a Catholic and Eyetie, she’ll do,’ was all Esme could manage. I’ve let the side down again and given into my better nature, she sighed, but she would square it all up on her knees with the Almighty later.

‘You will come, Walt, to the thank you do? The family has to give them support.’ Lily was telling him all about the prospective supper as they sat in the café on her lunch break the next day.

‘So I’m family when it suits you. Pity I wasn’t in on them coming in the first place,’ he said with his mouth full of barm cake.

‘None of us knew they were going to turn up out of the blue. I thought you understood that.’ She patted his hand. Sometimes he could look so peevish.

‘It’s none of my business, Lily, what your family does, but Mam thinks you should never have had them girls in the house.’

‘I’m surprised at her, being a widow and taking that attitude. It’s the middle of winter and freezing cold and nearly Christmas. Have a heart!’

‘I wish you’d give me a bit of your heart. A man’s only flesh and blood, and talking of flesh and blood, come here and give us a kiss.’ Walt lunged forward to
smack a sloppy kiss but it misfired as her cheek turned from him and his lips sucked in only air.

‘None of that now!’ she blushed. ‘Not in public. I’ve got Brownie costumes to sew, buttons to find. Not enough hours in the day as it is.’

‘What’s it this time?’ He peeked at the flimsy material in the brown paper bag. ‘I was hoping this was summat for your wedding dress. When are we going to name the day? What about next July or August, the mill holidays? It’s quiet in the town. It gives us a chance to find a place to rent, just like we promised, and it’ll take your mind off all these foreigners.’ He smiled a toothy grin, turning to his
News Chronicle.

He had a point, Lily thought. It was time they set a date and planned ahead. Mother would just have to get used to the idea of her leaving Waverley House but now was not the time to daydream about dresses and bouquets when there were ten soldiers’ and sailors’ outfits to cobble up for the Guide and Brownie Review dress rehearsal at St Matthew’s church hall next week.

It was her big idea for the Brownies to stage the story of Daisy Darling and the little tin soldier. So far she’d ordered military hats and let the mums loose on tricky jackets. The results had been disastrous.

‘I can count on you for next Saturday night then?’ she said, standing up to pay the bill.

‘I’m not sure, Lil. Eating foreign is not my cup of tea. It’ll play havoc with my digestion. Let’s go to the pictures and have a fish-and-chip supper instead. You know we’ve a Cup tie on Saturday afternoon. Has Levi got the tickets?’

‘Don’t ask me. I’ve promised to help the girls out. It’s their way of being sociable and it’s not polite to refuse.’

Walt shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Suit yerself, but count me out this time, love. Perhaps it’s better if it’s just ladies.’

‘Could you lend us some coupons then to eke out the rations? I’ll pay them back.’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry, no can do. Mam is the guardian of the ration books and she’s saving up for Christmas. We don’t want her to do without treats then, do we?’

‘I suppose not,’ Lily replied bitterly. Elsie Platt loved her son and puddings far too much to deprive them both of any luxuries on the Christmas black market.

Was this a glimpse of what life might be like in the future, him slumped by the fireside, stuffing her baking into his mouth and no conversation, stuck out in their cottage on the moor, miles from any of the excitement going on down town?

Where was that fluttering tummy, pounding heart, the passion of being together? She got more of that watching Pete Walsh dribbling down the centre of Grimbleton Park to Barry Wagstaff when the Grasshoppers played at home. Something wasn’t right but there was too much to do to worry about it now.

Whose big idea was it to give a thanksgiving dinner for Maria and the Winstanleys? sighed Ana. Where would they start? She chewed over the menu like a dog with a bone as she stood sentinel at her new post in the
Market Hall, trying to look busy, straining to understand the customers speaking while Levi slept off his beery lunch in the cubbyhole that served as his office. Here were kept all the more expensive items and spare stock. It was awkward brushing past him to reach up for boxes. He was not to be trusted.