Dancing in the Moonlight (30 page)

PART FIVE

Lucy closed her eyes to shut out the words in the newspaper she was reading – it was all bad news as usual. In the nine years that had passed since the day she’d
sent Jacob away her life had changed dramatically, along with the world as a whole.

She moved restlessly in her chair, her mind in turmoil. The world had become a place of boiling emotions as peace became more and more fragile, and lately she’d found it increasingly hard
to sleep at night, for thoughts of what the unrest might mean for her menfolk. War was a terrible possibility.

In Russia, Joseph Stalin – presented as the father of his people, like the tsars of old, in the media – exercised forced collectivization and incessant purges of all possible
opposition to his plan of economic development. Lucy couldn’t see that he was anything other than a monster. Hadn’t he destroyed millions of lives and eliminated ten million of the
wealthier Russian peasants, or kulaks as they were called? His slogan was ‘Liquidate the kulaks as a class’, but some newspapers reported that Stalin wasn’t just declaring war on
the kulaks, but on the hundred million peasant farmers the country contained, both large and small. She felt for the ordinary men, women and children caught up in Stalin’s campaign of terror,
and in Germany the rise of Adolf Hitler had followed the same ruthless lines.

Once in power, Hitler had abolished democracy and begun to impose his racial policies against the Jews, Gypsies and other minorities. She swallowed hard; it made her feel sick to think of it.
All those poor people, trapped in a country that had turned against them.

Five years ago it had been reported that concentration camps had been set up in Germany for political dissidents, under the control of the black-uniformed Schutzstaffel or SS, and the June of
that year had seen the ‘Night of the Long Knives’. Publicly, the Führer usually took pains to observe the legalities of a civilized society, but the ruthless purge of the
brown-shirted SA – an army under the leadership of Ernst Röhm, who apparently had never fully accepted the supremacy of Hitler – had been an act of sheer gangsterism worthy of Al
Capone. Just last year Hitler had again been in the news when he’d invaded Austria and brought the country into the German Reich, and no European nations had united to oppose him.

Lucy shook her head, remembering what Matthew had said at the time. ‘He’s just a bully,’ her stepson had declared. ‘And if you don’t stand up to bullies, they think
they’re unstoppable.’ Young as he was, Matthew had been right. And if her precious boy could see that, along with millions of ordinary men and women, why couldn’t the so-called
experts in high places? But man’s need to conquer and subjugate was everywhere. Might against right. And the evil ones were banding together. Mussolini had publicly deplored Hitler’s
anti-Semitism before the Italian leader had invaded Abyssinia four years ago. He’d been seen as a potential ally of France and Britain against the growing threat of the Nazis, but once the
League of Nations had denounced Mussolini as an aggressor and had imposed sanctions on Italy, he’d changed his tune.

Really, Lucy thought, it was like children in a playground with their separate gangs, but these ‘children’ had the power to destroy millions of people. Hitler, seeing his
opportunity, had begun to court his old enemy with flattery and now Mussolini, emboldened by German support, had invaded Albania only this year. And the two leaders had got together and signed a
‘Pact of Steel’. Pact of Steel! What was that, if it wasn’t declaring: You’re in my gang now?

She opened her eyes and looked down at the newspaper. The papers and the news reports on the wireless held a terrible fascination for her, even as they filled her with dread. She wished she
could close her eyes to what was happening, but she couldn’t. World peace was crumbling. In the Far East the war between two of the world’s ancient civilizations, China and Japan, grew
more bloody, and the civil war in Spain had ruined the country. Stalin and Hitler, hitherto bitter enemies, had their unholy alliance, and Britain and other countries sought to appease the Nazis by
sacrificing a free nation, Czechoslovakia. How could God keep this country safe when they acted like that? She, like thousands of other ordinary folk, saw what Mr Chamberlain seemed determined not
to see: Adolf Hitler wanted war, and John and many other young men would go away to fight . . .

Her hand went to her throat and she worried at the skin there, before she realized what she was doing and brought her hands together in her lap. All she’d done over the last difficult
years – the wealth and standing in the town she had carved out with blood, sweat and tears – would count as nothing, for she wouldn’t be able to save him. Every time she thought
about what was happening abroad she visualized the women – mothers, sisters, wives, sweethearts – who’d been forced by their governments to send their menfolk into goodness knew
what, and it chilled her blood. She had thought, when she’d made their family unit secure and affluent, that her loved ones were set up for life, but she couldn’t protect them if the
worst happened and this war became a reality.

Her mind wandered back over the last decade, which had been one of unrelenting grind, but through hard work and determination she’d expanded the business several times. Early on
she’d seen the need to gain the custom of the well-to-do upper crust of Sunderland society in their grand houses, along with the large hotels, realizing that if she limited her sales to the
mean streets of the East End, as Perce had done, profits would always be poor.

With that in mind, within the first year she borrowed against the fishmonger’s property and bought a reliable second-hand van. By the time she felt confident to drive, Ruby had left school
and she put her sister in charge of the shop, with a full-time assistant to help her. The soup venture had become so successful that Lucy hired a lad part-time to help her in the evenings, but
during the day she drummed up business in the town, travelling as far afield as Hendon and Ryhope.

Each morning saw Lucy setting off with the day’s deliveries, dressed in the attractive blue-and-white outfit she had made herself, complete with a pretty little mop cap. She knew a number
of her customers had been tickled pink when she had first approached them. ‘A mere wee slip of a lass’ one hotelier had called her, when she had knocked on his door, not unkindly but
rather disbelievingly, when she had insisted that she could supply him with produce that was second to none – and for a competitive price. But she had persuaded him to give her a chance and
slowly she had gained a reputation in the district for punctual deliveries, excellent seafood and, not least, a smile to brighten the dullest morning. It had proved to be a winning combination.

In the stricken North and the poorer parts of most cities the slums seethed like coral reefs with predators and prey, Lucy thought grimly. Small fry were all but fleshless, but their vast
numbers were enough to ensure the attention of money-lending sharks, by whom no bone was left unpicked. She had wanted to take the children out of an environment that she considered rife with
danger, and she knew it was no good looking to the government for help. For those families eligible for the dole – a married couple with three children could claim one pound, nine shillings
and thrupence – it meant running a gauntlet of petty officialdom and nosy neighbours, and the dreaded Means Test was purely an exercise in cruelty.

She pictured the Hepburns in her mind. Little Tommy had got himself a paper round to help out his mother; he knew she often went hungry so that his da and the rest of them could eat, and a
combination of exhaustion and undernourishment had left Mrs Hepburn prey to illness – anaemia, varicose veins and rotten teeth were the least of the poor woman’s problems. The family
hadn’t declared the few pennies Tommy brought in, knowing it would be deducted from their allowance, but a neighbour had informed the authorities. The result had been the workhouse for the
lot of them, where healthy children of pauper parents were often placed in the company of the senile, and physically and mentally sick adults, with devastating consequences for the innocent. There
was barely a day that passed in which she didn’t think of Tommy and his nine siblings.

Lucy shook herself. She had been determined they wouldn’t go the way of the Hepburns and so many others. Perce had provided her with an opportunity, and with it had come a deep conviction
that she had to capitalize on what she had. Four years after starting the soup kitchen she’d opened similar premises in the heart of Bishopwearmouth. Due to the shallower financial waters of
the slump, the building societies had trimmed the deposits required by mortgagers from 25 per cent to 5 per cent. Properties would never be so cheap again and she’d recognized this. The
following year she’d moved the family out of the flat and into a large five-bedroomed terraced house on the outskirts of Bishopwearmouth, situated in a prime position overlooking Barnes Park,
with gardens front and back.

By this last act her standing as a respected businesswoman took a huge leap forward, and opening a further two shops within the next three years confirmed her position in the town. She made no
effort to buy property over the river in Monkwearmouth or Southwick, however, no matter how attractive the price. Nor did she venture that way on the Sunday jaunts that she and Daisy and the others
frequently enjoyed. It was enemy territory.

Lucy shivered. Every so often, without fail, Tom Crawford would make sure she was aware of his brooding presence on the perimeter of her life. Occasionally she actually caught a glimpse of him,
but more often than not she was simply aware of being watched by invisible eyes. It played on her nerves, especially after he became a town councillor and was accepted into the upper strata of
Sunderland society.

Of Jacob she had seen and heard nothing. Jacob could be on the other side of the world rather than the other side of the River Wear.

She knew the family blamed her inability to relax and her insomnia on overwork. All, that is, except Ruby. Only Ruby knew what ailed her, and the reason for the rule that Daisy never left the
house unchaperoned. The problem was Tom Crawford and, while he drew breath, tension and anxiety would always be constant companions. It didn’t help that as Daisy had grown, so had certain
traits become apparent that could be linked to the man who’d sired her. Not in a physical sense. In looks, Daisy was a carbon copy of her, Lucy thought thankfully, but from a toddler her
daughter had displayed an iron-like will that was disconcerting in one so young and especially a girl. There was no spirit of compromise in Daisy, either, no inclination to meet an adversary
halfway to avoid confrontation. When her daughter had made up her mind about a matter, she became blind and deaf to reason.

But – Lucy’s eyes softened – Daisy was also kind and compassionate, which helped to balance that other side. From a toddler she’d hero-worshipped Charley, following him
around whenever she could, and although the two of them fought like cat and dog on occasion, Lucy knew they were close. And she herself had a special bond with her daughter, even though they had
many a battle over this or that. Another of Daisy’s endearing qualities was that she was incapable of remaining cross for long or of holding a grudge, and in spite of her daughter’s
complicated nature, which seemed to cause the child to war against herself as much as anyone else, theirs was a deeply loving relationship.

She stretched and stood up, glancing round her sitting room, where the French windows were open to the warm twilight of the August evening. It was a beautiful room; she had furnished it herself
exactly how she wanted it – she was lucky, so lucky, to have all this, and most of the family working in the business. The East End property was run by a husband-and-wife team and their two
grownup daughters who lived in the flat over the shop, but the other shops were managed by Ruby and John. Ruby was in charge of the one off High Street West, and Flora and Bess helped her along
with another assistant, and John was responsible for the remaining two properties and had a staff of seven employees answering to him. Matthew had left school the previous year and had joined Lucy
to learn about the supply and delivery side of the business, which was now extremely lucrative, as her bank balance testified. Her requirements had long since overtaken what Seamus could provide;
she now had several sources of supply and a fleet of three vans. She still drove one herself because she enjoyed it, but once Matthew was old enough to pass his driving test he would take her place
and be in charge of the other van drivers. At least that had been the plan, before talk of this wretched war. She’d imagined that within a few years she would be able to leave the business in
the hands of the family and take Daisy to Europe, away at last from the reach of Tom Crawford. The private nest egg she’d accumulated would have meant they could have travelled and broadened
their minds, before settling somewhere and making a new life in the country of Daisy’s choice. Free from the past.

She walked out into the quiet garden, needing its serenity. The evening was soft, the air filled with the scent of roses and fragrant mignonette and jasmine. The birds were singing and the
eight-foot-high walls covered in ivy and climbing roses represented safety. She glanced at the beds of sweet peas, larkspurs, pinks and all manner of sweetly perfumed flowers, but tonight the
garden didn’t work its magic. Her eyes focused on the sections of the air-raid shelter they’d been provided with, which were currently placed against the wall of the house. The lads had
wanted to erect the steel-built, tunnel-shaped shelter weeks ago, but it needed to be partly sunk into the ground and would have meant destroying some of the garden. She’d told them that if
–
if
– war was announced, they could do their worst, but not before.

She’d been fooling herself.
It had been clear from the beginning of the year, when the government had begun to distribute air-raid shelters and had announced that the Territorial
Army was to be doubled, what was in store. The country was bracing itself, and talk of plans to introduce conscription and of farmers ploughing up grazing pastures to increase the proportion of
food produced at home was just the beginning. Only this month it had been announced that everyone was to have an identity card and number, and many movable treasures had been taken to safety from
the major museums and galleries and even from Westminster Abbey. The Polish crisis was deepening, and folk were saying that by the end of the month the Army and RAF reserves would be called up and
the Royal Navy mobilized. John was already declaring that he wanted to teach the dirty Nazis a lesson, and when she’d chastised him for such talk, he’d told her flatly that he
wouldn’t wait to be called up before he did his bit.