Till the Sun Shines Through (47 page)

The next day, Bridie didn't get out of bed until the evening when hunger drove her on to the streets to buy a sandwich and a cup of tea from a WVS van. The woman who served her was cheerful and encouraging and Bridie wondered what made these valiant women come out night after night to feed the destitute and homeless, as well as the rescue workers and emergency services.

Maybe she should find something to do, make a useful contribution to the war effort, even if she would win no medals as a mother. It would fill the days too until Jay was better and her job would be over. She'd talk to him tomorrow, because it would mean she would probably visit less often, maybe just in the evenings.

Jay, however, thought it was a good idea. Secretly, he thought if his aunt went for a job, she'd have to look after herself better and dress more decently.

But what should she do? Everywhere she would be welcomed, whether she offered herself in a voluntary capacity, or went back into a factory. But wherever she went, she reminded herself, she'd have to meet people, answer questions. They'd talk about their families and ask about hers. She wasn't sure she was ready for that yet, maybe she'd never be ready. She wrestled with the problem all the following day. If only she could summon up more energy, she thought.

By the time she visited Jay the next day, she hadn't come to any decision, but he didn't ask as his thoughts were centred on Christmas, just six days away. Bridie had almost forgotten about it; it would be easy enough to do, she thought, for there wasn't much evidence of it anywhere else either. The remaining windows of the shops still standing were very sparsely decorated, very little tinsel, or artificial snow, and few lights ringing the windows.

Of course there was little incentive to do more when the windows would have to be shuttered close before dark. No lights were strung across the streets now, nor were there lighted decorations above any shops and no huge Christmas tree in St Phillip's churchyard.

But the festive season had definitely come to the General Hospital and in Jay's ward, streamers were strung across the room and between the beds, and a giant Christmas tree stood in the corner. Jay had Christmas cards paraded on his beside cabinet. ‘I've had one from Dad, and Uncle Tom,' he said. ‘Grandad and Grandma sent one too, and Mickey. The other one is from the nurses. They send a card to everyone.'

Bridie was ashamed that she'd never even thought of sending a card to the lad herself, never mind getting him some gift, however small. She decided to remedy that as soon as possible and also to spend as much time as she was allowed with Jay this Christmas, the first after all without his mother, and leave the problem of getting a job for the New Year.

She'd not risen from her bed the next morning, although it was eleven o'clock, when a knock came to the door. She stiffened. Nobody ever knocked on her door. She paid her rent every week to the landlady on the ground floor, but the woman had never mounted the stairs to the attic. No one did. Whoever it was at the door couldn't want her. It must be a mistake and she didn't have to answer it.

But the knock came again, louder and more insistent this time, and with a sigh, Bridie heaved herself out of the bed. She had no nightwear and slept in her clothes, but she drew a stained cardigan over her jumper for the room was like ice. She had to steady herself for a minute or two, her hand on the bedpost until the giddiness had passed, before she shambled across the room.

Bridie recognised Rosalyn straightaway, for she still had the same mop of auburn curls that she had as a child, though her hair was cut shorter than Bridie remembered, and her eyes were the same, deep-set and dark brown. And yet Rosalyn was the last person in the world that Bridie would expect to call. She lived on an entirely different continent, for Heaven's sake. She looked at the smart woman in the black, fur-trimmed coat, with matching hat and gloves that looked so out of place in that dingy doorway, and said hesitantly, ‘Rosalyn? Is that you, Rosalyn?'

Rosalyn was glad Bridie had spoken for she'd not been at all sure that the dirty drab that had opened the door to her was her cousin at all. She was sure now though and also glad that Bridie's parents had been worried enough by her letters and behaviour to ask her to call as it was obvious that Bridie needed help. She smiled at her. ‘Hallo, Bridie,' she said. ‘I bet you're surprised to see me!'

Bridie was surprised to see Rosalyn standing at her door all right, but she didn't know whether she was pleased or not. Hadn't her father been the start of the whole thing? But Rosalyn had been unaware of it and had been her friend for years before that.

Before Bridie had recovered her wits about her, Rosalyn, not waiting to be asked, had stepped over the threshold of the door and only then did Bridie notice the case she had with her.

Rosalyn looked about the room, wrinkling her nose with distaste at the state of the place and the stink of neglect. It was so cold her breath was escaping in whispery vapour. She'd been shocked at Bridie's appearance and demeanour, but recognised depression when she saw it. Her aunt Maria had had a touch of it after the last child's birth and, God knows, Bridie had suffered enough, losing so many loved ones, to depress anyone.

But that was over now. She was going to take her in hand. She'd come to stay for a few days, though the thought of spending any time in that dreary place did nothing to lift her spirits. ‘How … How …' Bridie began. ‘I … I thought you were in America?'

‘I was,' Rosalyn said. ‘When war was declared, my husband Todd was annoyed that America didn't side with Britain. He's always been mad to fly anyway and he joined the American Volunteer Air Force. He did just basic training in the States before coming here. There a company of them sharing the base at Castle Bromwich aerodrome with the regular RAF guys.'

‘So you came over with him?'

‘Well, I followed him,' Rosalyn said. ‘He wasn't best pleased either. I arrived in Birmingham in early December, just after you had those really bad November raids, the first one that robbed you and Mary of your houses and the one days later, the other one that was so tragic. Of course, I didn't know that then. Aunt Sarah only told me of it when I went back to Ireland. Todd was worried stiff about me and he convinced me to go home to Mammy while the bombings were so bad and after spending a week with him I agreed, mainly because I didn't want him fretting about me when he needed to keep his wits about him.'

‘So how come you're back here now?'

‘I'm here because your father came to see me. Bridie, you have your parents both frantic over you. They knew you weren't right by the tone of the letters you sent. I promised I'd come and see for myself.'

‘So now you can go back and tell them you've seen me and I'm fine,' Bridie said truculently.

‘No I can't, because you're nowhere near fine,' Rosalyn said. ‘But why should you be? Bridie, don't shut people out and try to deal with this terrific tragedy on your own.'

She put her hand on Bridie's arm and said, ‘Let me at least try to help you?'

Bridie shrugged her arm off. ‘Leave me be, Rosalyn.'

‘That's the last thing I'll do,' Rosalyn said. She crossed the room and lit the gas fire with the matches above the mantelpiece and turned it up full, then she pulled the curtain of the small kitchenette and opened cupboards and drawers. She turned to face Bridie. ‘You've no food in the house.'

‘It doesn't matter. I don't get hungry.'

‘Bullshit, Bridie!' Rosalyn cried.

‘Leave me alone,' Bridie pleaded. ‘You don't know what it's like at all. My life's over.'

Rosalyn bounced before Bridie in impatience as Bridie remembered her doing when they were growing up together. It stirred a memory and the affection, no, love, she'd once had for the woman before her. ‘Listen to me, Bridie McCarthy, or Cassidy or whatever you are, your life's not bloody well over. Don't be so bloody selfish.'

‘Selfish?'

‘Yes, selfish. I know what you lost and I know it hurts like Hell. Pain like I've had no experience of and hope I never have, but you're not the only casualty. How d'you think your husband feels? And have you given any thought to your parents, your mother in particular who's lost a daughter and her sister? And Mary's boys? Mickey, I know, is still going through it, because Mammy said so. They have no mother. Are you going to deprive them of an aunt too?'

‘I can't …'

‘You can,' Rosalyn said with force. ‘We're going out to have a meal somewhere, but you're not going like that. Is there a bathroom in this dump?'

‘Yes, next floor down. But you have to put money in the geyser.'

‘That's not a problem,' Rosalyn said. ‘Nor are clothes because I have a easeful here. These you have on really should be burnt.'

‘I had nothing after I was bombed out,' Bridie protested. ‘These were from the Mission hall.'

‘Well, I daresay they were decent enough at the beginning,' Rosalyn said. ‘But you don't have to wear them till they walk off your back.'

Bridie was no match for Rosalyn in this dominant and assertive mood and within minutes she was immersed in a bath. The government told everyone to use no more than five inches and a line was drawn around, but the water from the geyser, mixed together with cold, barely reached the line anyway. This time, though, it was filled with bubbles and fragrant oils from Rosalyn's collection of toiletries and she washed Bridie's hair three times, kneading at her scalp till it squeaked with cleanliness and her head tingled.

Bridie stepped from the bath to be enfolded in one of Rosalyn's thick towels and dried and powdered like a baby. The underclothes Rosalyn handed her reminded her of the ones she'd worn under her dress the night of the Harvest Dance and for a moment the memory made her stiffen. But Rosalyn, with no idea what had happened that night to cause Bridie such pain, was impatient with her.

‘Hurry up, my stomach thinks my throat's cut,' she complained, handing Bridie a soft wool jumper in a deep red and a blue serge skirt. The jumper hung down nearly to her knees and she had to roll the waistband of the skirt over and over, yet they were the nicest clothes she'd worn in ages. Then there was black high-heeled shoes and Rosalyn thanked her lucky stars that for her size she had fairly dainty feet and that they were only a little too big for Bridie. Then she gave her a suspender belt and, wonder of wonders, nylon stockings, which Bridie put on almost reverently, for she'd only ever had one other pair in the whole of her life.

She surveyed herself in the mirror in the attic and, despite herself, felt her spirits lift just a little. Because her hair was still damp, even after the towelling Rosalyn had given it, she coiled it around and piled it on the top of her head. The effect was stunning.

It was a shame she had to pull her old coat on over such clothes, but Rosalyn hadn't another coat. ‘I'll get Maria to send some parcels for you,' she promised. ‘Lots of women in America want to do something for you all over here. Most, like me, have more clothes than they know what to do with. They can donate some of them to a worthy cause – my cousin.'

‘Oh Rosalyn.'

‘Now, Bridie, don't start to cry on me,' Rosalyn admonished, but gently. ‘I imagine you've done plenty of that.' She put her hand on Bridie's arm and said, ‘They're gone, pet, and you have to accept it. But you're alive and you must stay that way for Tom, your parents and Mary's sons.'

‘It's hard, Rosalyn,' Bridie admitted. ‘Some days I can't see the point of getting up.'

‘That's because there's nothing to get up for,' Rosalyn said. ‘Before I go back, I'll give you a reason, just see if I don't. But for now, we must eat. Where shall we go? Name a place?'

‘The city centre, I suppose,' Bridie said uncertainly. ‘If there's any place not burned to the ground. Tom and I didn't eat out much. But at least if we make our way there, we're near the General Hospital for visiting Jay.'

They ate a slap-up meal in a small hotel in a side street off Colmore Road. It had sustained bomb damage and some rooms were closed off, but the restaurant was open and doing good trade. Many ate out if they could afford to in the war, for it saved the rations for the rest of the family. Rosalyn, used to American lavishness, and Ireland – the land of plenty – thought the meal rather tasteless and was appalled at the small amount of meat she had on her plate. But Bridie, used to rationing, thought it wonderful.

She'd told Rosalyn she'd not felt hungry and it had been true, but that had been linked to her mood. Feeling moderately better, she'd felt hunger stirring in her as they went into the restaurant and the different smells assailed her nostrils. When the meal was put in front of her, she felt saliva in her mouth and attacked the dinner as if she hadn't eaten for a week and indeed she might not have done. She knew it had been a long time.

Feeling full and knowing you look good gives a lift to anyone's spirits and as Bridie made her way to the General, she began to feel a little more self-confident. Rosalyn, following behind, was devastated by the state of the city centre after the sustained attacks by the Luftwaffe. There were gaping holes in roads, where buildings had once stood, filled with rubble.

There were no lights, no festivity at all. You'd hardly credit it was nearly Christmas, Rosalyn thought, and wondered how many families were without a home that year. And the children, many deprived of their father, without presents. We could do more in America, she thought to herself. I will write to Maria as soon as I have a chance.

She said none of this to Bridie, who barely noticed the bomb damage now. She'd become inured to it.

Jay was in pretty good spirits and was delighted to see Bridie looking so well. He'd been worried about her lately, and he had to admit he'd been slightly ashamed, for she'd looked such a mess and smelt a bit like rancid cheese.