The Girl on the Beach (7 page)

‘Do you think Hitler will invade?’ Rosie asked. ‘Everyone at the factory is talking about it and a lot of the men have joined the Local Defence Volunteers. I don’t know which is more frightening, the prospect of air raids or of being overrun by German troops.’

‘Harry is convinced they won’t come, the air force will stop them.’

Rosie laughed. ‘And as far as you are concerned Harry is always right.’

‘He has been up to now.’ They turned round and started back. ‘What time do you have to be back at work?’

‘Eight o’clock. I’m on nights.’

‘Then you have time for a bite of supper with me before you go.’

‘I don’t want to take your rations.’

‘Don’t be silly, you provide me with a lot of it. I don’t know how I’d manage without your contribution. I owe you for the last lot anyway. I’ll pay you when we get home.’

Paying Rosie was becoming a bit of a problem because the cost had gone up so much, but she didn’t know how she could manage on her rations and non-rationed goods were so hard to come by she had come to rely on what Rosie brought. Even the price of rationed goods had rocketed. Milk had doubled to fourpence a pint, though George’s was
half price; butter and sugar and syrup were half as much again as they had been when war started. As for bacon, that had shot up to two shillings a pound and many poor families could not afford to buy their rations.

Her worry about this was temporarily set aside when they approached the house. There was a police van outside the Goldings’ gate and both husband and wife were being escorted none too gently towards it. Each was carrying a small suitcase. She left Rosie with the pushchair and ran to them. ‘What’s happened? What have you done?’

‘We are Austrian and we’re Jews,’ Mrs Golding said. ‘That’s enough.’

Julie turned to the policeman who had hold of the woman’s arm, as if he feared she would try and escape. ‘There must be some mistake. These people are doing no harm. They’ve lived in England for years.’

‘So they say,’ he said. ‘But we have orders to round up all enemy aliens.’

‘What will happen to them?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s up to the tribunal.’

She watched the van drive away. ‘I can’t believe that,’ she told Rosie as they went indoors. ‘She’s a harmless old woman.’

‘Maybe, but you can never tell, can you? There’s been a lot of talk about fifth columnists and reds, lately. People saying they should all be interned. If they were left free and we were invaded, they might find it safer to be on the side of the invaders and help them all they could.’ She paused, dismissing the subject. ‘Shall I peel these potatoes for you?’

‘Yes, please. I’ll cook those sausages you brought me. And there’s a cabbage in the larder. And we can have a tin of peaches.’ The peaches were also provided by Rosie. ‘This
supplier of yours seems to be able to get almost anything. Do you know how he does it?’

‘No, and I don’t ask.’

‘What’s his name?’ She shredded the cabbage and put it in another saucepan.

‘I don’t think I should tell you that. He might not like it.’

‘OK. I was curious, that’s all.’ Julie laughed. ‘You haven’t got a thing about him, have you?’

‘No, course not.’

‘You’re blushing.’

‘No, I’m not. It’s the heat from the stove.’

‘If you say so.’ The frying pan went on and a tiny knob of lard was put in it to cook the sausages. ‘But you can thank him from me.’

‘What are you doing with all that stuff I’m giving you, Rosie, my love?’ Ted asked. ‘I can’t believe you’re using it all yourself.’

‘I pass some of it on.’

They were talking in undertones in the Chalfont factory canteen in their lunch hour. The canteen was not geared up for the influx of all the extra workers and they had had to queue for half an hour for their meal, leaving barely half an hour to eat it.

‘And make a tidy profit, I’ve no doubt,’ he said. He had once been Sir Bertram Chalfont’s chauffeur, he had told her, but now there was so little petrol Sir Bertram was coming to work on the Underground and he had been given a job in the factory. He hated it, telling her it was a great comedown from what he was used to, and if it hadn’t been for his little sideline, he’d have been bored to tears.

‘Only a little. A girl has to live.’

‘And do these customers of yours know where you get it from?’

‘No. I thought it best not to say.’

‘Very wise of you. How many customers have you got?’

‘Only two. My landlady and my friend, Julie Walker.’

He laughed. ‘Julie Walker, eh?’

‘Yes, do you know her?’

‘If it’s the one-time nursery maid at the Chalfont residence who married Harry Walker, yes, I do.’ Since working at the factory he had come to realise who his assailant had been and he still bore a grudge. If it were not for the fact that Donald Walker was the production manager and his immediate boss, he would have taken his revenge long before. When Harry had joined up he thought he’d lost his chance. Now he’d been handed new opportunities on a plate.

‘Yes, I’d forgotten she said she used to work for Lady Chalfont.’

‘She likes what you take her, does she?’

‘Yes, wouldn’t you?’

‘We could make it more, you know. Can’t let the little thing go short of anything, can we?’

‘No, but I’m not so sure she can pay for more, she never seems to have much money in her purse. It’d be a bit risky, don’t you think?’

‘Everything is a risk these days.’

‘Where do you get the stuff from anyway?’

He laughed. ‘Do you think I’d tell you that? I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.’

‘No, and I suppose it’s best not to know.’

‘Attagirl! Fancy the flicks tonight?’

‘Yes, if you like.’

Julie had put George to bed one warm evening in late June and was sitting in the kitchen over a cup of cocoa when the back door opened and a figure in an RAF uniform stood in its frame. ‘Harry!’ she squealed, jumping up and throwing herself into his arms. ‘You’re back.’

He hugged her and kissed her over and over again. ‘God, I’ve missed you.’

‘And I you. Sit down. I’ll make you a cup of cocoa. Are you hungry?’

‘What have you got?’

‘Bacon and an egg do you?’

‘Fine. And a slice of fried bread, if you’ve got it.’

She busied herself about the stove, glancing every now and again towards him, as if to make sure he was really there.

‘How’s George?’

‘He’s getting on a treat. Walking now, a bit wobbly and he sits down on his bottom every now and again, but if you hold your arms out he crosses the room to you. Go up and see him while I do this, but don’t wake him. It might upset him to see a man bending over his cot.’

‘I’m his dad.’

‘All the same …’

He left the room and she heard him dash up the stairs two at a time and cross the floor in the bedroom above her. She finished the cooking and went to the foot of the stairs to call him down. ‘It’s on the table.’

He ate hungrily and helped her wash up and then she sat on his knee on the sofa in the front room to tell him all that had been happening to her, about Mr and Mrs Golding being taken away, the funny little things George did and his attempts to talk, and about Rosie’s continuing friendship.
But she said nothing of the black market supplies Rosie brought her. She knew it was wrong but she stifled her conscience by telling herself it was for George’s sake and telling Harry would only worry him. ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘How long are you home for?’

‘Forty-eight hours.’

‘Forty-eight hours! Is that all?’

‘Yes, then I have to report to Manchester. We’re off to Canada.’

She sat up and stared at him. ‘Did you say Canada?’

‘Yes, as in North America.’

‘But Harry, why? Why so far?’

‘It’s all to do with the Empire Air Training Scheme. We go over there for training and when we come back we’re fully operational.’

‘How long will you be gone?’

‘Not sure. Three or four months.’

‘Oh, Harry, and I thought I’d got you back.’

‘You never lost me.’ Absent-mindedly he wound one of her blond curls round his finger. She had had it cut short to make it easier to look after. ‘You’ve managed so far, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, but it’s awful without you. I miss you so. Until now I’ve never had to be on my own and I’m not much good at it.’

‘I miss you too, but you can go and see Mum and Dad, can’t you?’

‘I do sometimes, but I always feel awkward with them when you’re not there.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. They think you married beneath you.’

‘That’s nonsense. You are not beneath me. You may not have known your parents but they bequeathed you some very good traits that you could not have learnt at the Coram.’ He smiled and lifted her chin with his finger to look into her eyes. ‘You are beautiful, bright and intelligent. You care about people and you are a wonderful wife and mother. What more could I ask?’

‘Oh, Harry, you make me so happy.’

‘I’m glad, because if you were not happy, I should be miserable too, so shall we cheer up and make the most of the time I’ve got?’

She stood up and pulled on his hand. ‘Shall we go to bed?’

‘What a good idea!’

Forty-eight hours went by in a flash. They visited his parents and Millie, whose husband had a desk job at the War Office, took George to Southwark Park and watched him toddling about and trying unsuccessfully to catch the sparrows that came for the crumbs they took them. And they made love. He had vouchers for his own rations while he was on leave and Julie took them to her grocer and came away with enough to make sure he had a good breakfast, some mince for dinner and an egg for supper. He was not au fait with exactly what the rations were, nor how to make them stretch, and he did not question the fact that his bacon ration was supplemented by sausages and the mince was cooked with an onion, which were almost unobtainable and changed hands, one at a time, for an exorbitant amount.

The morning he left to catch his train, her stoicism was called on as never before. She made sure his shirt and underclothes were clean and neatly ironed, packed his bag
and made him some sandwiches to eat on the train, all the time chattering brightly about nothing in particular and gulping back tears. When the moment came for him to leave, she picked George up and took him to the door to say goodbye to his father.

Harry hugged them both. ‘Be good. The time will fly by, you’ll see, and we’ll be together again.’

‘Oh, Harry.’ The tears spilt; she just could not hold them back.

He put his kitbag down to mop her eyes with his handkerchief. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart. Let me have a smile to go away with.’

She sniffed and managed a watery smile.

‘That’s better. Now I must go. There’ll be hell to pay if I’m not back on time.’ Gently he put her from him, gave her one more searching look as if to imprint her features on his memory, then picked up his bag and strode away.

She watched until he stopped at the corner to turn and wave, then went back indoors and collapsed in a chair in a flood of tears, gripping George so tightly on her lap he wailed to be put down. She let him go and watched in a blur as he toddled over to pick up his woollen ball and throw it to her. George needed her to be strong. She mopped her eyes, played with him for a few minutes, then got on with the day’s chores, and in the afternoon she took him to see Miss Paterson.

Grace was too old for war work, but she had joined the Women’s Voluntary Service and put on the bottle-green uniform and the rather unbecoming hat in order to be useful. One of her first tasks had been to help organise the evacuation of the children in 1939 and to help provide the poorer children with clothes to take with them. The WVS
were also to help the ARP when people were made homeless by air raids in her area, finding them food, clothing and shelter, though this had not yet become necessary. She did not doubt it would happen.

‘I’ve got myself in a bit of a mess,’ Julie told her as they sat over a cup of tea.

Grace looked at her over the rim of her cup with an eyebrow raised. ‘What sort of mess?’

‘I’ve been buying under-the-counter stuff and it’s costing rather a lot of money.’

‘Oh, Julie, Julie, don’t you know better than that?’

‘Yes, but I needed it for George. I can’t let him be hungry, can I? And he loves syrup on his porridge.’

‘Other people manage, my dear.’

‘I don’t think they do. Everyone buys black market stuff if they can get it.’

‘Not everyone, Julie. It’s unpatriotic.’

‘I never thought of that. But it’s only for George. It isn’t as if I buy things for myself. I wouldn’t.’

‘And now you are in debt.’

‘A bit.’

‘It’s a great pity they did not teach you how to manage your money in the Coram, but that wasn’t considered necessary for girls.’ She smiled. ‘They were expected to go into service until they married and you do not need a degree in mathematics to manage a servant’s wages, and if you married, your husband would deal with money matters. Times are changing and women must learn these things nowadays.’

‘I don’t see what I can do differently. We were comfortable and I coped all right until Harry joined up. I wish he hadn’t done that. Now all I’ve got is my married and child allowance.’

‘He did what he thought was right, Julie.’

‘He’s gone off to Canada now and I hate being alone.’

‘You have friends.’

‘Yes, there’s Millie, though it’s a bit of a trek across London to see her, and there’s Rosie, she comes now and again, and the people across the road, but I don’t have a lot to do with them. Their two children were evacuated but they came back and now they’re getting into mischief because there’s no school for them to go to. I was friendly with the Goldings, but they have been deported and their house is boarded up. It’s creepy at night, knowing it’s empty.’

‘I doubt the landlord will let it stand empty for long. Count your blessings. Now, about these debts of yours.’

‘It’s mostly the rent and what I owe Rosie. I’ve been out the last two weeks when the rent man’s called but I can’t keep doing that.’