The Street (23 page)

The light had been fading and the snipers seemed to have retired for the day. Still they’d spent an hour loitering, checking and watching then checking again before they’d emerged gingerly onto the ridge. As souls pursued by demons they’d sprinted over yards of no-man’s land, keeping their eyes grimly on the horizon and away from the wretched men beyond help. On one such run Geoff had been convinced he’d sensed the claw of fingers on his leg as they’d hared by. Tortured by the thought that the fellow might have been imploring for help he’d later that evening squirmed back on his belly to find him. By ghostly moonlight he’d identified that hand stiffly outstretched in supplication. Little comfort was to be had from knowing he was many nights too late. He could think of nothing to do other than to cover his fallen comrade’s taut white visage with a helmet to try to protect it from the rats.

Geoff crouched down against the wall and dug in a pocket for tobacco. He was still breathing heavily after the dash with Private Ratcliffe; nevertheless he took a long, deep drag on the cigarette, filling his tortured lungs with smoke. The aid post was set a distance behind the lines in a village. He leaned his head back against the whitewashed wall of the farm building that served as a field medical centre and looked up at the sky as the first star shells sent up by the Germans cast an eerie luminescence on inky ground. Somewhere close by he heard the thud of a shell that was quickly followed by another. The working parties that came out under cover of darkness to do their bit always drew enemy fire.

Vinnie strolled up and settled down beside Geoff. To one side of them was a doorway and stairs that led down to the cellar. Several patients were waiting down there to be seen by the doctor. Their man, Ratcliffe, was one of them. Having watched a lazy smoke ring drift into the twilight Vinnie said, ‘D’you reckon he’s a Blighty one?’ It was every casualty’s hope to be a Blighty one. It meant he would be going home for rest and recuperation, perhaps never to return.

Geoff sucked on his cigarette. ‘’Spect the poor bleeder hopes it is. Don’t look very old, does he?’

‘Not old enough, I’d say.’ Vinnie gave Geoff a sly look. ‘How old are you?’

‘Old enough,’ Geoff said on a wry smile. ‘That’s what the recruitin’ sergeant told me anyhow.’

After a pause he asked Vinnie, ‘We hangin’ around or gettin’ back?’

‘Got to wait and see what the doc says about him. Might be taking him tonight further up the line to the ambulance station.’ A sudden loud explosion made them both duck despite the lee of the building and cellar into which they might dive for protection.

‘Fritz is enjoying himself tonight,’ Geoff remarked dryly.

They listened for returning fire and exchanged a joyous grin when they heard it. ‘That’ll learn ’em,’ Vinnie said with a chuckle as the allied bombardment continued chuntering away.

‘Let’s go ‘n’ see if the doc’s seen our bloke yet.’ Geoff stubbed out his cigarette end and turned to go down the steps to the cellar. He hesitated on seeing that an injured fellow, leaning on a comrade, was being helped towards the aid post. Geoff got himself out of the way so they could pass unhindered. He crouched down against the wall again. He’d noticed the fellow had a head wound; almost half of his face was swathed.

The casualty squinted at them with his one uncovered eye. ‘Geoff? Geoff Lovat?’

Geoff turned in astonishment and stared up at the grinning fellow. He shot to his feet and took a hesitant step towards him.

‘It’s you . . . Geoff Lovat . . . ain’t it?’

Geoff pushed his helmet back on his head and gazed at Jack Keiver. ‘Bleedin’ hell!’ he breathed in shock.

‘Joined up then?’ Jack said casually as though they’d been having a chat, leaning on a railing, in Campbell Road. ‘Be alright now,’ he muttered to the pal who’d been supporting him. He took an unsteady step towards Geoff. ‘Nice to see a familiar face, I can tell you. Ain’t seen nobody from back home fer so long.’

Geoff strode across the space that separated them and grasped Jack firmly by the hand. He pumped it up and down then curbed his enthusiasm as Jack winced. ‘Come on, let’s get you down them stairs. Doctor’ll soon have a look at you.’ Slowly they took the stairs one step at a time. On reaching the bottom Geoff grabbed a chair and gently eased Jack down onto it. He eyed the bloodstained bandage that angled over Jack’s forehead, scalp and right eye. He hunkered down by the side of his chair so their faces were level. ‘Do you want anything to drink?’

‘Nice cup o’ tea if a whiskey’s out the question,’ Jack answered wryly.

Immediately Geoff sprung up and returned in a moment with a tin mug of steaming tea. ‘Stuck yer six sugars in that. Just what the doc ordered,’ he said on handing it over. He went down again beside Jack’s chair. ‘What you done to yourself?’

‘Ain’t much. Bit of shrapnel flew at me. Knocked me out cold.’ Jack sipped at his brew and closed his eyes, blissfully smacking his lips as though he’d just tasted nectar. After a moment he pressed a hand to his bandage. ‘Looks worse’n it is, I reckon. Be right as rain soon.’

Geoff snapped his head towards Jack. ‘You don’t want to go saying that,’ he hissed low and urgent. ‘Play yer cards right and you could be going home. Keep shaky on yer pins. Tell ’em you got blinding headaches and can’t see straight. It’s a Blighty one. You make sure of it!’

‘Could do with some leave. Promised Alice I’d be back again on leave. How are they all? How’s all my gels?’

Geoff swallowed, wiped a hand across his face. He nodded. ‘Fine,’ he finally croaked. ‘All fine when I left. I’ve been gone a few months. But they was all fine and missin’ you, of course.’

Jack blinked his one eye at Geoff to clear misting water from it. ‘Miss ’em all right back.’ He coughed, collected himself. ‘And how’s your lot? Your mum ‘n’ dad alright? What about Dan and Sophy? Was nice to see ’em, wasn’t it? Right surprised I was that day.’ His eye clouded dreamily as he added, ‘It was a good party, wasn’t it? One of the best.’

‘Yeah, it was,’ Geoff agreed softly. He cleared his throat. ‘They’re doing alright, still in Essex, of course.’ He fished in his pocket and drew out a crumpled envelope. ‘Got letters off Alice here somewhere.’ He’d read the letters, touched his palm to the paper, so many times the edges had become frayed.

‘Tilly’s never been a scholar so Al writes to me too,’ Jack said with a smile. ‘She’s a good gel.’

‘The best,’ Geoff answered hoarsely. ‘If you get yer ticket back home . . . tell her . . . tell her . . . you know . . .’

‘Yeah . . . I know,’ Jack said kindly, with a smile for Geoff’s inarticulate sentiment. ‘Reckon she do too,’ he added. ‘And same applies. If you get back before me . . . tell ’em . . . you know . . .’

Geoff nodded.

‘I want to say that I’m pleased about you and Alice. You’re a good ’un, Geoff Lovat. I know you’ll always take care of her for me.’

‘Die for her if need be,’ Geoff said quietly, staring at his hands.

Jack nodded and drew forth from an inside pocket his silk scarf. Tenderly he touched it with bloodied fingertips. ‘Give me this, Alice did, bless her. Got it from you fer me, I know, she did, when you worked at Milligan’s.’ He folded it back inside his breast pocket. ‘Me lucky charm, it is. Keep it close to me heart.’

‘Private Keiver.’ A medical orderly beckoned. ‘Come along with me now. Let’s get you seen to and properly patched up.’

‘I’ll come back ‘n’ see how you’re doin’,’ Geoff blurted as Jack followed the fellow. ‘Soon as I can I’ll come back ‘n’ see how you’re doin’, he promised fiercely.

Jack sent a one-eyed glance over his shoulder. ‘You take care of yourself, son.’

‘Ratcliffe’s going onto the main dressing station,’ Vinnie called to Geoff.

Geoff knew immediately what that meant. He’d be asked to act as runner and get a message to the motor station to bring an ambulance closer.

Vinnie grinned at him. He’d read from Geoff’s grimace that he knew his work wasn’t yet finished for the evening. ‘Hope you’re feeling energetic. Shouldn’t be so nippy on yer pins, should you, then they wouldn’t ask you.’

Geoff carefully folded Alice’s letter and slipped it inside his tunic, to rest with the others warming his heart.

‘Mum . . . you must tell me . . .’

‘Gotta get going and get me rents.’

‘No!’ Alice flew to the door and pluckily flung her back against it, blocking her mother’s exit. She saw one of Tilly’s hands being raised and, anticipating a blow, swiftly ducked and turned her head.

Tilly dropped her arm and stomped away, muttering.

‘Please tell me,’ Alice implored. ‘You’ve got to! I want to know.’

‘I can’t tell you ’cos
I
don’t know,’ Tilly bellowed in raw pain. She dropped her face into her hands. A moment later she tossed it back up and met her daughter’s eyes with bleak defiance. ‘I don’t know if he’s your father, Al. He’d forced himself on me before. Finished what he’d started that time,’ she whispered, her voice haunted by vile memories. ‘It were about the time that I fell pregnant with you, so I never knew if you was his or your dad’s.’ Tilly gulped down the lump in her throat. The dreadful news had sent her daughter crumpling to her knees. ‘I don’t know, Al,’ Tilly repeated miserably. ‘I can’t be sure.’

‘I thought you just said it to get him off me,’ Alice whispered in anguish. ‘Never thought it might be true. Not really. Thought you was protecting me . . .’

‘I was!’
Tilly thundered. ‘He were evil and he’d have finished what he started with you given the chance. I hated him. I’m glad he’s gone . . . glad he’s dead, even if he is your . . .’ She bit the final word off and took a step towards her sickly looking daughter.

Alice scrambled up and flew sideways away from her.

‘For what it’s worth I believe Jack’s your dad,’ Tilly said gruffly, hoping to comfort Alice with words if a touch wasn’t allowed. ‘When you was born he took to you straight off, natural as can be. You’re his favourite, you know you are.’

‘Did he know what happened . . . what Jimmy did to you?’ Alice gasped through her tears. ‘Does he think I’m not his daughter?’

‘Never could’ve told him what went on.’ Tilly vehemently shook her head to stress her denial. ‘He’d have gone after Jimmy and killed him. Never would’ve let someone as good ‘n’ decent as Jack get strung up for putting down the likes of Jimmy Wild.’ She clicked two fingers, her features contorted in contempt. ‘He never were worth that. You mustn’t say nuthin’ neither, Al,’ Tilly instructed fiercely. ‘When your dad gets back home you leave him in peace over it, you hear? Leave Fran in peace too.’ Tilly pressed a hand over her forehead and squeezed shut her eyes. ‘Your aunt’s livin’ on her nerves as it is. She never knew what Jimmy’d done to me neither. She’d have blabbed to Jack for sure, saying it was my fault. That’s what Jimmy would’ve said: that I’d wanted it.’ Tilly grasped double-handed at the table edge, seeming to sway into it. ‘Took a long while, and a beating that could’ve killed her, for Fran to come to her senses over Jimmy,’ she continued in an odd, whimsical tone. She suddenly shoved away from the table, strode to the door and went out.

Alice sank to the edge of the bed and gazed at the wall. She felt too numb to regret what she’d done. She’d held her tongue for a long, long while. But she’d never forgotten what her mother had screamed at Jimmy as he’d dragged up her skirts. She’d simply concentrated on other things. But always it had been there at the back of her mind, niggling away at her consciousness.

Today, out of the blue, she’d decided to come home on her dinner break rather than go with Annie to the café. She’d known Lucy would be at school and just her mum at home. She’d convinced herself that there was nothing to it. She simply wanted her mum to confirm that she’d bawled a load of nonsense at Jimmy so the beast would leave her alone. Then she could rest easy in her mind. Instead her mind now was darting crazily here and there as consequences of this shattering news crowded in on her. Bobbie and Stevie might not be her cousins but her brothers. Her sisters might only be half-sisters. Fresh tears streamed from her eyes as she allowed the worst possibility of the lot to overcome all others. Her beloved dad might not be related to her at all. She slowly sank sideways and wearily lifted her legs up so she could lie, sobbing, on the mattress.

She was still there at four o’clock in the afternoon when her mother returned, leading Lucy by the hand.

‘You not been back to work this afternoon?’ Tilly demanded incredulously as soon as she spotted Alice. In the past Alice had never missed her shifts no matter what calamities occurred to put a spoke in the works.

‘No,’ Alice said dully. Wearily she pushed herself to a sitting position then got up. Just before she went in to the back room she said plaintively, ‘Why didn’t you just tell me a lie?’

‘If you hadn’t asked I wouldn’t have said,’ Tilly returned roughly. Her antagonism crumbled beneath her daughter’s mournful gaze. ‘It’s been burning me guts for too long,’ she added quietly. She tipped out of her bag and onto the table a loaf of bread and a paper twist containing tea. ‘You’re old enough now to take a share of the burden.’

‘What on earth’s happened to you?’

Alice opened the door wider and gawped at Sarah. Her friend looked as though she had been bawling long and hard; her features were puffy and her pale complexion was dark with blotches. The last time Alice had seen her in this state was just after Sarah found out her dad had been killed in France.

‘Need to speak to you urgent,’ Sarah mumbled through her hanky. ‘I got meself in big trouble, Al.’ Sarah made no move to come in. She retreated a few steps, still pressing at her face with her sodden handkerchief.

Swiftly Alice pulled the door to behind her and stepped onto the landing with Sarah. She put a finger to her lips. ‘Keep it quiet. We just got Lucy off to sleep. She’s right poorly again. Seems she gets one chill after the other lately. Mum’s so worried about her she’s sent Aunt Fran to fetch the doctor.’ Alice glanced over her shoulder as though to satisfy herself she wasn’t causing a disturbance to those inside. ‘Mum’s in a state ’cos she thinks it might be diphtheria. A kid in Lucy’s class at school’s gone to hospital with it.’

‘Diphtheria?’ Sarah’s bloodshot eyes were widening in shock. Diphtheria could be a killer. It was also catching. ‘D’you feel alright?’ The question was garbled out as Sarah took a wary step backwards to put space between them.

‘Yeah, I’m alright. So’s Beth and Mum.’ Alice could tell from Sarah’s reaction that she knew the situation was serious for Lucy. ‘Mum got her some jollop but the poor little mite can’t hardly swallow it, her throat’s so sore.’ Alice pressed together her lips to stop them trembling. She was dreadfully worried about her little sister.

‘I’m sorry now that I’ve come ‘n’ bothered you but . . .’ Sarah miserably snuffled into her hanky.

‘What’s up?’ Alice asked kindly, squeezing Sarah’s shoulder in comfort. ‘Your mum gone bonkers at you?’ Now she’d got a closer look at Sarah she could detect a bruise on her face. Alice knew that it wasn’t unusual for Ginny Whitton to hurl bottles, or whatever was to hand, in her efforts to get Sarah to hand over her wages.

‘I’m in real big trouble, Al,’ Sarah burbled through fresh tears. ‘Ruined things for Con, ain’t I, and
she’s
gone bonkers. Do you remember the statues I showed to you?’

Alice had felt queasy with anxiety over Lucy. Now a new worry was churning her insides. She had thought at the time that something bad might come of that episode with the statues but soon she had forgotten all about it. Far graver matters than that had since been jostling for attention in her mind.

The atmosphere between Alice and Tilly had been strained since her mother’s explosive disclosure about her parentage. They were avoiding each other’s eyes and spoke only when necessary. They weren’t at loggerheads exactly but Alice was still unable to fully take in the devastating news that Jack Keiver might not be her father. In an odd way she was glad that she had her little sister’s health to fret over for it drove one nightmare away. Certainly another replaced it but she had some respite from dwelling constantly on the hideous possibility that Jimmy Wild might have sired her.

Now Alice sent her mind back to that walk she’d taken through the market with Sarah on the day her friend had been trying to sell the china figures. She recalled Jeannie Robertson showing an interest in the contents of Sarah’s bag. Alice recalled too that she’d suspected from the start that Sarah might have filched them when Connie’s back was turned. ‘Did you steal them, Sar?’ she asked quietly.

‘No! Connie give them to me. All I wanted was a bit of cash. Stupid cow, she is. She’s found out they’re sort of treasures and her Mr Lucas’s gone up the wall over losing them.’ Sarah’s agitation had made her voice shrill.

Alice put a finger to her lips, miming that Sarah must be quiet. She gripped one of her friend’s elbows and urged her closer to the head of the stairs.

‘How was I to know they was worth such a lot?’ Sarah squeaked plaintively. ‘If she’d have said I wouldn’t have let Jeannie Robertson have ’em for a measly six quid, would I?’

Outside the door-less entrance at the foot of the stairs was a street lamp. As Sarah fidgeted about a silvery light from it striped one side of her face, accentuating her injuries. Alice gasped and peered closer. It looked like her friend had been beaten up rather than dodging missiles launched by her mother. ‘Did Connie set about you over it?’ Alice frowned in disbelief. Connie had never been known to be violent.

‘Wasn’t her. She’s brought Louisa with her this time, ain’t she. Bitch’s given me a right thumping. If they don’t take them shepherds back soon Connie’s out on the streets. Mr Lucas told me that himself.’

‘You’ve spoken to him?’ Alice gasped in astonishment.

Sarah confirmed she had by nodding. ‘Connie come over here one evening, all hysterical. Didn’t have nothing to give her; not even the cash Jeannie give me. I bought meself a few nice bits: new winter coat ‘n’ so on,’ she explained sheepishly.

‘Connie never brought him here?’ Alice’s astonishment had increased. The idea that a rich, posh bloke had entered Ginny Whitton’s hovel, even if it were to recover some valuable ornaments, seemed absurd.

‘Nah . . . don’t be daft!’ A watery little chuckle clogged Sarah’s throat. ‘Con made me go back with her to explain to Mr Lucas that she weren’t lyin’ over what happened to them.’

‘Did she say straight off she wanted them back off you?’

Sarah nodded, looking ashamed. ‘I should’ve pawned them and given her the ticket. Too late now though.’

‘Did he . . . this Mr Lucas . . . did he go mad at you?’

‘Not really; weird sort he is, all quiet and creepy. Don’t trust him one bit. I reckon Connie’s out on her ear anyhow whether he gets back his shepherds or not.’

After a short, reflective pause Alice gave a long sigh. ‘Don’t see how I can help. Wish I could.’ She gazed into the distance, said wistfully, ‘Wish Geoff was here; he’d know what to do about it.’ Alice turned quickly to shield her expression. It had been thoughtless to bring up a mention of Geoff.

Although in the past Sarah had questioned Alice over it she was too distracted today by her own troubles to make any comment on Geoff’s hasty decision to go to war. ‘D’you know where Jeannie Robertson lives now?’

‘Mum might know,’ Alice said, guessing at once what Sarah was thinking and reckoning it to be a lost cause.

‘D’you reckon she might let me have ’em back if I promise to give her back her money?’ Sarah’s forlorn expression told Alice she already knew the answer to that one.

‘No,’ Alice said simply. ‘I don’t.’

Sarah burst out crying, stuffing a fist to her mouth to muffle the noise.

‘Shush . . .’ Alice flapped a hand. ‘I’ll try and find out off Mum where Jeannie lives. I’ll come and see you tomorrow.’

‘You coming down here or am I coming up to get you?’

Both Alice and Sarah whipped around and peered over the banisters. Louisa had stationed herself at the bottom of the stairs. Her podgy fists were planted on her hips and she was staring up belligerently at them. Behind her, in the doorway, was outlined Connie, dressed in a stylish coat and hat. She appeared beautifully incongruous in such seedy surroundings . . . until she opened her mouth. She surged forward and snarled up at Sarah, ‘You’d better get down here. Mr Lucas’ll want some answers so you can come back with me now and give them to him, you thievin’ mare.’

‘Shut up, the lot of you.’ Alice had leaned over the banister to hiss at the two sisters. ‘We’ve got the doctor turning up any minute. Lucy’s got diphtheria. She might be going off to hospital. You know it’s catching, don’t you?’ Her warning had the required effect and sent Louisa and Connie scurrying back outside.

‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow if things aren’t too bad with Lucy,’ Alice promised. With a sympathetic grimace for Sarah she turned away and went back inside.

‘Ah . . . you’ve brought Sarah to see me again; how charming,’ Mr Lucas drawled. He rose slowly from the sofa but from impatience rather than any sense of weary courtesy as the two young women shuffled into the living room. He had been waiting for Connie to return to hand over his Dresden pieces. As soon as he had them she would be ejected for good, to return where she belonged . . . the gutter. His lips tightened as he noticed neither of them was carrying anything.

‘Me sister’s come to give you some good news,’ Connie blurted nervously and tried to pin a winning smile to her lips. ‘Sarah reckons she can get off her friend the address of the woman who bought the ornaments. Soon as we know where she is we can go and buy them back for you.’

‘Is that so?’ Gilbert drawled, his scepticism at them achieving any such thing crushingly apparent. He was quite sure that, unless the woman who’d bought them was as dense as these two, she’d try to hang on tight to them. But they’d been pilfered so the woman could possibly be classed as a receiver of stolen goods.

However, he was reluctant to cause a stir over it all in case his wife got wind of what was going on. She lived at their country estate in Hampshire but news travelled through relatives eventually. The idea that a police investigation might bring him into close contact with Constable Franks, Connie’s humiliated fiancé, made him run a finger between his collar and his hot neck. He wanted the figurines returned but without anybody knowing how a common tart had tried to fleece him. His eyes rested on Sarah, making her shift uneasily beneath his scrutiny. Finally she met his eyes and grinned in an attempt to curb her apprehension.