Tuppence To Spend (27 page)

‘I see.’ Ruth gave him a quick glance. He was still looking into the flames, his shoulders heaving a little every few moments, but he seemed to have got over his outburst of grief. Perhaps now was a good time to get him to talk. ‘Would you like to tell me about your mum?’ she asked gently. ‘Anything you like. What she looked like. Games she used to play with you. What you did together. That sort of thing.’ There was another pause. ‘I’d really like to know, Sammy. I really would.’

For a moment she thought she had gone too far. He was sitting immobile, as if frozen, before the fire. He didn’t turn his head to look at her, didn’t move at all. The only sounds were the crackling of the flames and Silver’s movements on the perch behind them.

She offered Sammy the biscuits and he took one and bit a piece off. Then he drew in a deep sigh and turned at last to look up at her, and she knew he was going to talk at last about all the griefs that had been shut away inside him during all these weeks.

It took a little while, even so, to get him started, and after a minute or two she prompted him gently.

‘Was your mum poorly for a long time?’ she asked. ‘Did she have to stay in bed?’

He nodded. ‘She was all right when I was little. She used
to work in the pub then, with Gran and Grandad. Me and Gordon used to have lemonade. But then Mum missed and that made her poorly.’

‘Missed? What did she miss? Did someone go away?’

‘No. I don’t know,’ Sammy said, frowning. ‘I just heard Gran talking about it once, she said that was the second miss Mum had had in a year, and she wouldn’t ever be the same again. I couldn’t see no difference, mind, but she didn’t play with us as much after that and when she worked in the pub she got tired.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Miscarriages, Ruth thought. Two in a year, and possibly bad ones too. No wonder poor Mrs Hodges hadn’t been well. But that wasn’t enough to explain her dying.

‘Gran died and then Grandad, so we couldn’t stop in the pub any more. That’s when we moved to April Grove, only I got whooping cough and Mum got tired again too, and she fell over one day when Gordon brought the necklaces home, and the doctor said she’d got enema in her blood.’

‘Enema?’ Ruth said, trying to make sense of the confused story. ‘D’you mean anaemia?’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he said. ‘Enema. And he said she’d got to have iron, you can get it in little tablets, so she had to take them and she stopped in bed a lot. I got her liver at the butcher’s because it’s got iron in, but I don’t think the liver I got had any, it was all soft, and it never made her any better. She was just as tired, see. And then Gordon went to the proved school and she fell over in the street on the way home and another doctor came and he said it was enema too, only a different sort of enema.’ He frowned again. ‘There was someone in the Bible had the same name, they told us about it at school once, he’s in a prayer.’

‘The same name as anaemia? What d’you mean, what sort of name? What prayer?’

‘You say it when you go to bed,’ he said. ‘Mum used to
say it to me. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, that’s it. It’s one of those names.’

Ruth stared at him. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.
Luke
. She felt a chill run through her.

‘Was it
Luke
?’ she asked quietly. ‘Was it
leukaemia
?’

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Leukaemia. Is that a very bad sort of enema?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s a very bad sort, Sammy.’

There was a brief silence. Sammy had crept closer during the tale and was now leaning against her knee. She put her hand down and rested it on his head, and they both stared into the fire for a moment or two without speaking.

Leukaemia. There was no cure for leukaemia. If you had it, you died. You faded away. There was nothing anyone could do.

‘Oh, Sammy,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I don’t know why she had to get it,’ he said in a muffled voice. ‘I don’t know why she had to die, when she’d got two boys to look after.’

That reminded Ruth of his brother. ‘What happened to Gordon?’ she asked. ‘Why was he sent away? Did you say he was at a school somewhere?’ If it was an approved school, as she suspected, he must have done something pretty bad.

‘He got in a shop,’ Sammy said. ‘He took necklaces and stuff. It was him and Micky from up the street, Micky said they could get Christmas presents only it was after Christmas when Gordon went, so they were going to sell it instead. They’d have got
money
,’ he said with a touch of indignation, ‘and we could have got Mum some better medicine.’

‘Well, yes, but it was stealing, wasn’t it?’ Ruth said gently. ‘You know stealing’s wrong, don’t you?’ If the child’s mother had said prayers with him at bedtime, surely she would also have taught him right from wrong. ‘So were Gordon and Micky both sent to the approved school?’

‘Not Micky. Only Gordon, because he was older. He’s fifteen.’

‘But Micky wasn’t evacuated, was he? I don’t know any Mickys in Bridge End.’

‘No, he stopped home, with his mum and gran. And I stopped home too, with my mum. She didn’t want me to go away, see. She –’ he caught his breath and his eyes filled with tears again ‘– she wanted me to stop with her, she said I was her – her
angel
and she wanted me to be at home.’

‘Oh, Sammy.’ Once again, Ruth cradled his head against her. ‘You don’t have to tell me any more now if you don’t want to.’

‘She stopped in bed nearly all the time after Gordon got sent away,’ he went on, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘I did the shopping and things, only I couldn’t cook very well and Dad used to bring in chips from the shop. Mrs Vickers next door used to come and help, and Mrs Budd from down the street. And one day I went up the shop and got stuck in the queue, and I was gone ever such a long time, but I got some oxtail, they said it would be good for her – and when I went back, she’d gone all white. She always was white, but she was sort of blue as well. And I thought she’d – she’d died, but she hadn’t, she opened her eyes and looked at me, and – and she – she just said I was her angel, and then – then …’

His faltering voice stopped. Ruth drew him up on to her lap and he huddled against her body, quivering. She wrapped both arms round him and held him close.

‘It’s over now,’ she whispered at last. ‘Your mum’s in heaven now, with Jesus. She’s not tired or hurting any more. She’s well and happy, and she can look down and see you, and she wants you to be well and happy too.’

‘Does she?’ he said, glancing up at the ceiling.

‘Of course she does. She called you her angel, didn’t she? Well, now your mum’s a real angel and she loves you even more. She’s never really left you, you know,’ Ruth said
gently, thinking of how she’d felt when Jack had died, how she’d seemed to feel his presence all about her, almost as if he’d wrapped his arms about her for ever. ‘I know that when someone dies we never see them again, but that doesn’t mean they’ve stopped loving us, any more than we stop loving them. You still love your mum, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ he said warily, ‘but Dad said she’d gone and not to talk about her any more.’

‘Well, you can talk about her to me!’ Ruth felt another quick surge of anger towards Sammy’s father. ‘I shan’t mind how much you talk about her. I’d like you to tell me all about her. Not all at once – just whenever you feel like it. And I know she still loves you. I
know
she does.’

They sat quietly for a few minutes. The fire was dying down, and Ruth eased him off her lap and got up to put on some more wood. The flames leapt up, lighting the room with warmth, and Silver, who had been unnaturally quiet all this time, suddenly squawked into life behind them.

‘Bugger me! Bugger
me
! Splice the mainbrace. Sippers and gulpers. Bugger me, it’s a bleedin’
eagle
.’

Sammy giggled, rather waveringly but a giggle nonetheless, and Ruth laughed. She ruffled his hair and looked at the empty cups. ‘I think we could do with another cup of cocoa, don’t you? And then I’ll read to you from that book Lizzie brought round.
The Wind in the Willows
. You like that story, don’t you?’

Sammy nodded, and Ruth went out to fill the kettle again. She pumped up the water and stood thinking as it poured slowly from the tap.

There were still questions to be answered. His brother, his father and what was to happen to the little boy who seemed so neglected, so unloved.

He can’t go back there, she thought. Even when the war ends, he can’t go back.

‘Can you credit that anyone could be so cruel?’ Ruth said to
her sister. ‘It’s not just his father, it’s the authorities. Taking him away like that and not telling me what had happened. And the poor little chap’s got no idea where his brother is.’

‘But why won’t they tell him that?’ Jane asked. ‘I don’t see why he can’t know.’

‘I don’t suppose it’s a case of
won’t
, it’s a case of
haven’t bothered
. Nobody seems to have given a thought to his feelings. It’s never occurred to them that he probably never knew the address. He’s only eight, for heaven’s sake. How would he know? His mum wrote the letters and posted them. All Sammy knew was that it was a “proved school” as he calls it, he’s no idea where it is.’

‘
Someone
must know. His father must.’

‘But I don’t know how to get in touch with him. That Mrs Tupper’s no help at all. She hardly ever comes near us and she’s always in a hurry, and she just ignores me when I ask questions. As if it’s none of my business,’ Ruth said indignantly. ‘And I’m supposed to be looking after the child! How can you give a kiddy proper care when you don’t know he’s only just lost his mum?’

‘All they’re concerned about is keeping them safe from any bombing,’ Jane said. ‘I suppose they think that’s enough.’

‘Well, it’s not,’ Ruth said shortly. ‘Kiddies need to be looked after in more ways than being fed and washed and kept safe. They need to feel cared about as well.’ She paused and then said, ‘They’re still worried about this invasion, aren’t they? It’s nowhere near over.’

‘No, it’s not. There’s barbed wire going up all round the coast, so I’ve heard, and people standing by to ring the bells to let everyone know if the Germans come.’ Jane shook her head. ‘It doesn’t seem much, to stop an army that’s overrun all those other countries already. I mean, it’s like standing in front of a tank and trying to push it back. I don’t want to sound defeatist, Ruth – we’re supposed to try to keep
cheerful, aren’t we – but honestly, I do wonder sometimes if we’re not just banging our heads against a brick wall.’

‘I do too.’ Ruth was silent for a moment, then shook her head a little and drew in a deep breath. ‘Still, there’s nothing you and I can do about it, so we might as well do what the song says and keep smiling through. And make Christmas as good as we can. It’s up to us, Jane, and that’s something we
can
manage.’

Her sister nodded and smiled. ‘You’re right, Ruth. The best Christmas we can manage. And that’s a promise!’

They did everything that Sammy wanted to do at Christmas.

‘You don’t need a lantern to go carol singing,’ Lizzie declared when Ruth and Sammy went up to the house to have tea. ‘There’s the moon and stars. And people don’t need to open their doors to listen – just to pass out the money! We’ll all go and we’ll get Edna Corner as well, it’ll cheer her up – she needs it, what with Reg being called up and her not being able to keep the Budd boys any more because of the baby coming. And you can ask Joyce Moore and her boys, and anyone else who wants to come.’

‘Not too many,’ Ben put in, spreading Marmite on toast. ‘If the whole village turns out, there won’t be anyone left to sing carols to.’

Lizzie made a face at him. ‘I’ll work out a route. We’ll go round by Mr Knight’s farm and down the lane to Middle Bridge, and we’ll go to Bridge End House, they’re going to have a big party there, I’ve heard. Everyone’s determined to have a good Christmas and they’ll be really pleased to have carol singers coming round.’

‘I think they will,’ Ruth agreed. ‘It’ll be like old times. We’ll go on Christmas Eve, when everyone’s at home.’

‘I wonder if the Germans will let us
have
Christmas,’ Jane said to her in a low voice as they went out to the kitchen to make more tea. ‘You hear about that truce
they’re supposed to have had in the last war, but we can’t be sure they’ll do the same this time. I wouldn’t put it past them to send bombers over on Christmas Day itself, just to be nasty.’

The bombing had been going on all through December. London had been getting the worst of it, with almost continuous raids, both day and night, but other cities had been hit as well. Birmingham, Liverpool, Bristol, South-ampton, Plymouth – all had been attacked. It seemed as if every city in Britain must be at risk and even in the countryside you weren’t completely safe. The sound of a lone German plane, droning overhead on its way home after a raid, was one of the most frightening that Ruth had heard. It might still have bombs aboard and no pilot was going to go back to Germany with unused bombs. Better to drop them at random and hope to hit some small rural settlement, a village, farm or even church. Better to kill one person than no one at all.

It seemed, during the last few days before Christmas, as if Jane was right and the Germans weren’t going to allow a Christmas holiday from the bombing. Liverpool was badly hit again and Manchester had its first big raid. The idea of all the families who had lost their homes and possessions, even their loved ones, wrenched at Ruth’s heart. It was impossible to help them all. But she could help Sammy and she knew that already she had taken the motherless boy to her heart. What would happen when the war ended she didn’t know and couldn’t do anything about, but while he was with her he would know what real family life could be.

Christmas Eve came and it was as if the world held its breath. No planes droned overhead. The air-raid sirens stayed silent. The sky was dark, a canopy of black velvet, spattered with stars, as the little crowd of carol singers made their way around the village. The sound of their voices rising into the clear air brought people to their doors to listen – mindful of the blackout, just in case – and when
they said their collection was to be used to give both evacuee and village children a party, coins were dropped willingly to chink into their tins.