Blitz (33 page)

And Robin, knowing when she was beaten, and filled with the languor that comes after a great emotional flood of the sort she’d just been through, told her. Of Poppy’s behaviour first of all, for that still hurt, and then haltingly of what had happened with Chloe and Hamish.

‘So there you have it,’ she said at length. ‘I feel – oh, it’s hard to explain. I just thought he was a friend, that’s all – ’

‘Rather more than a friend,’ Chick said. ‘Love and all that, I reckon. It does get in the way, doesn’t it? Spoils some good friendships – ’

‘No –’ Robin protested, but Chick shook her head.

‘Listen, ducks, will you? You’re in a great state on account of Hamish curled up with your sister. Sorry, half-sister. It’s really got under your skin – and that wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t want to curl up with him yourself – ’

Robin’s already red face got hotter. ‘I never thought of him that way,’ she protested feebly.

‘Maybe you didn’t, not with your head. But your body did, didn’t it? Bodies can be a goddamned nuisance, take it from me.’ Now it was Chick who looked a little pink. ‘That cousin of yours – ’

‘Mm?’ Robin looked at her, glad to be distracted from her own tale of woe. ‘What do you mean? Daniel?’

‘Daniel,’ Chick said. ‘As smooth as butter and then some. And rather on the gorgeous side, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I suppose so,’ Robin said and Chick laughed.

‘I guess when it’s a relation you don’t notice it. Take it from
me, he’s pretty as guys go. And very pushy – ’

Robin looked alarmed. ‘I hope he’s not – not –’ and again Chick laughed.

‘Oh, don’t fret! I can take care of myself. It’s just that –’ She shrugged. ‘I’m just glad I can talk to Harry now and again.’

‘He’s still seeing you then?’ Robin was deeply grateful for the turn the conversation had taken. The more they talked of Chick’s affairs, the less they’d talk of her own.

‘In a vague sort of way. He’s really rather nice in his own dour fashion. Getting him to talk is like walking over a ploughed field in high-heeled shoes, mind you, but it’s worth the effort you know what I mean?’

‘Yes,’ Robin said and managed a smile. ‘Yes, I think so. Listen, tell me more tonight. I must get some sleep and then I want to get up early and go over to the Nursing Office and arrange to go on duty tonight. My eyes don’t bother me too much, and I know they’re short in Cas. Especially now that Meek’s gone to her new post – ’

‘Alleluia, praise the Lord,’ said Chick. ‘Without her we all do much better, believe me. They’ll never let you go on duty tonight. You look as though you ought to be in the sick bay.’

‘Oh, nonsense, I’m fine. Just a bit sore is all. Are you going then?’

‘If you promise me you won’t fret any more over this business with your – with Hamish and Chloe.’

‘I won’t,’ Robin said knowing she lied. ‘Go on now.’

‘I’ll go.’ Chick got to her feet. ‘But I’m not leaving it at that. I’ve got a feeling about your half-sister.’

‘So have I,’ said Robin with sudden malice in her voice.

‘Not like yours,’ Chick said. She had reached the door now. ‘I think she’s a born troublemaker. I think she’d say anything to upset people, just for the hell of it. Really spiteful – ’

‘Is Churchill Prime Minister?’ Robin said wearily and put her cup on her bedside table, so that she could slide down in bed. It felt very welcoming and sleep was beginning to creep into her.

‘So I’m going to do a bit of research,’ Chick said. ‘Sleep well, ducky. See you tonight,’ and she was gone, closing the door softly behind her, and Robin slid into sleep almost at once, worn out with the pain of her eyes and last night’s exploits and the emotional maelstrom that had followed. She tried to think
about what Chick had said and what she might mean but couldn’t catch her own thoughts; they kept sliding away into dreams of flames and the sight of St Paul’s Cathedral outlined in crimson against a black sky.

Poppy sat at the kitchen table, hunched over a cup of cocoa, staring at the blackout that covered the big window. Its thick stuffy folds seemed to echo her mood, and she wanted to bury herself in it. To be able to sink into blackness, to have no painful dreams, no fears that twisted themselves into hideous images of death and disaster as she slept – that was the only sort of bliss she could imagine.

Upstairs Goosey was sleeping. She’d been in her room all day, and Poppy, when she had climbed the steps to the front door and gone into the house to stand and listen to the silence had thought for a while of just leaving her there to sulk, and then had sighed.

She couldn’t do that to the old thing. She’d meant no harm, after all. Just moaning on about the laundry; and it was difficult for her, because wasn’t she too fretting over David? Oh, David, prayed Poppy, standing in the hall in the cold winter light, come home safe, please come home safe. I need you so much, don’t let them drown you. And so terrified was she by the word that had come into her mind that she ran upstairs to speak to Goosey as though she could run away from her own thinking.

The old woman was sitting in the chair beside her window staring out at the garden when Poppy had followed her knock on the door by immediately putting her head round it and at first wouldn’t speak. But eventually Poppy had coaxed her round and she had wept a little and sniffed a lot and then opted to go to bed, though Poppy insisted that she eat some supper first.

‘I’ll bring you something on a tray,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure what but – ’

‘There’s a bit of cheese in the box,’ Goosey said, looking animated suddenly. ‘It would toast up lovely on a bit of bread –’ and she had sniffed again and mopped her old eyes and crept into bed, and Poppy had gone down to make her supper.

Now she sat in her silent house, almost straining her ears to hear some sort of comforting sound from outside, but there was just the hiss of the coals on the fire and the faint murmur of the
kettle lid on the hob as steam lifted it in a steady rhythm, and she sighed and tried to pretend there wasn’t a war on at all, that this was the ordinary old days when she’d been busy of course, but it had all been so comfortable and easy; and she couldn’t. The layer of fear that was always there at the bottom of her belly these days wouldn’t go away, and while it was there no amount of effort to exercise her imagination could possibly help her.

She dozed a little, sitting there at the table, her head propped on her hand and her empty cocoa mug in front of her, and dreamed again; this time it was Robin she saw, running through leaping flames with her cape streaming behind her like a crimson wing, and then she saw it wasn’t just crimson on the inside but on the outside too, and the colour came from burning – and she woke suddenly to stare sightlessly at her quiet kitchen, trying to banish the image that was still there in front of her eyes.

Quite what made her do it she was never to know, and in years to come she was to think about it often; all she knew now was that while she sat there willing the image of Robin in flames to leave her memory, she had a sudden urgent need to go to Jessie.

She could see her staring at her, standing there in the middle of her kitchen with her red arms dusted with flour and her face glowing with the reflection of her pink blouse, and Bernie standing behind her looking sullenly at Poppy, and she had to go and see her. Perhaps after all she’d been unduly unkind to her this morning; she wanted Bernie and his hateful black-market dealings out of the business’s premises, of course, and that was reasonable enough, but she needn’t have been so short with Jessie, so very hard.

And she got to her feet almost without realizing she was doing so and headed for the hall to pick up her coat and hat and scarf and go back to Cable Street. It was dreadful to leave the people you loved in a bad temper at any time, and perhaps worst of all now, when all around them all was so fluid, so ever-changing, so desperately constantly dangerous.

She closed the front door gently, praying Goosey hadn’t heard it, knowing she’d worry if she had, and then set off at a jog for the Bayswater Road and the first bus that came along. A train from Marble Arch, that was what she wanted, and then
Aldgate East and the chance to tell Jessie she was sorry to have upset her this morning.

And then, perhaps, she told herself as the bus came trundling along, looking like a faintly blue ghost in the darkness as its shaded bulbs glimmered coldly in its depths, perhaps even to make some sort of peace with the hated Bernie. He might be despicable but he was, after all, Jessie’s son. And for that reason alone it would be worth making the gesture of friendliness to him. It would make Jessie happy, certainly. And she sat in her corner seat as the bus started up again with a low growl, feeling suddenly a little better.

The bells were ringing at Aldgate East station when the train got there, and she swore softly under her breath. An alert in progress; and she stood on the platform as other arriving passengers moved into the crowds, looking at the rows of occupied bunks and people on mattresses and rugs who filled the whole area as far as she could see, very aware of the fetid air laced with the smell of hot winter clothes and rubber shoes and tobacco and above all of human sweat, and tried to think.

To go out into a raid would be foolish and anyway the chances were a warden would appear to bundle her into a shelter again; but to stay here would be worse, and she hesitated, not able to decide what to do.

Somewhere up the platform someone was playing a mouth organ and a couple of children, a little boy with crisp curling black hair, a wide grin and enormous energy, and a small round girl who was just as eager as he was, were tap-dancing to it, and she stood and watched them for a while, diverted.

They were both obviously blissfully happy, their feet twinkling in practised unison, and grinning at their audience with practised skill as a small neat woman, obviously their mother, sat and watched them with bursting pride all over her face.

‘That’s it, Lionel – keep it going – good girl, Joycie!’ she cried and clapped her hands in encouragement, and the children danced even more energetically as their mother laughed delightedly, and Poppy thought – they’ve forgotten why they’re here, forgotten they’re here for the bombs and the sirens. They’re just happy dancing, and she looked at the other people around them who were watching them. They looked tired and white about the mouth, but they were amused by the children and
enjoyed them, following their mother in clapping their hands in time to the music that the mouth organ churned out perkily.

‘On the good ship Lollipop,’ Poppy whispered under her breath in time to the music. ‘It’s a short trip to the candy shop, where the bon-bons are, happy landings on a chocolate bar –’ and suddenly her eyes smarted with unshed tears.

Lee had loved that silly song, had learned to sing it in her tuneless little voice almost as soon as she could speak; and Poppy tried to imagine her here beside her, dancing like these children, and couldn’t. She was safe and happy enough where she was, however much she might be missed here, and Joshy too, and the tears came closer to the surface. I must see Jessie, she thought then with complete inconsequentiality. I must see her, raid or not. It had become the most important of matters, more than just a desire to calm the morning’s spat, more than a wish to make peace. It was an imperative that pushed her to the exit and the stairway to the surface.

She arrived at the top a little breathless, for the escalators had stopped, to find the warden standing near the half-drawn iron gates across the entrance. It all looked very odd; the ticket office and the cigarette kiosk and newspaper stand shuttered, but otherwise the usual messy Underground station, and she stared round, trying to remember it all as it had been. A silly thing to do – another attempt to escape from what was really going on. And she shook herself mentally. There was no escape from the here and now. There never would be.

The warden turned his head as she came up. ‘You want to stay down there below, missus, where it’s safe.’ He returned his gaze to the street. ‘The buggers are really after us tonight and no error – ’

She looked out over his shoulder and saw it; the glow in the sky ahead, just at the far end of Leman Street across the wide road that was Whitechapel High Street, empty now of moving buses and lorries, for they were all abandoned at the kerbs, their occupants gone to seek shelter. It looked unreal and yet menacing out there as the glow in the sky ahead was reflected off such shop windows as had survived, and the patches of worn road where the gleam of tar showed through. And suddenly she caught her breath. Leman Street – close to the shop and restaurant and Jessie –

‘Where’s that coming from? That glow there – any idea?’ she
said as she came closer to the man, and peered through the gap between the gates.

‘Last I heard from the fellers over at the Post, it’s a direct hit on Cable Street,’ he said, peering out into the dimness. ‘And ’ere they come again, the devils. Get down!’ And he turned to run towards the head of the escalator as above them the low roar of aeroplanes shook the sky.

She pushed the gates open wider and wriggled out. A direct hit on Cable Street. Oh, God, she thought. Oh, Jessie. Oh, God, and began to run as the man in the station behind her, suddenly realizing what she was doing, shouted after her and the noise of the planes overhead got louder.

She ignored his shouts and ran on along the familiar route, staring ahead with her eyes wide for fear of missing her footing in the blackout and then realized that with the light overhead as well as the other fires burning around her and lighting up the sky, there was ample illumination. Fire engines were everywhere, with police and more wardens, and she dodged arms put out to stop her as she ran on, getting first dreadfully breathless and then at last finding her second wind, which made it possible to run even faster.

The planes overhead grew quieter, and she thought – thank God, they’re going over to somewhere else and then felt a great stab of shame. Wishing bombs on other people. Is this what we’ve been reduced to? Wishing others hurt, anyone as long as it’s not ourselves –