Polly's War (25 page)

Lucy pressed her lips together, praying for patience. ‘If the vindictive old hags in this street choose to be malicious, that’s up to them. I don’t need to ask anyone’s permission about what I do.’

‘You need to ask
me
.’

Lucy slammed the cup back in the saucer and was on her feet, shaking with temper, her fury overwhelming her efforts to remain cool, calm and collected. She was quite uncaring of her mother hovering at the other side of the door, probably listening to every word. ‘
Over my dead body
!’ she yelled at him. ‘You don’t rule me, Tom Shackleton, husband or no. I’ll make up my own mind what’s proper and what isn’t.’ Whereupon she flew from the room, tears of rage and distress streaming down her face.

Hearing her run upstairs, Polly turned to Charlie in distress. ‘It’s not working, them living here with us. They need a place of their own.’

Fifteen minutes later Polly found her daughter half packed, two sleepy children brought from their beds and already dressed.

‘You’re not going to him, this fancy man of yours, not because of a silly argument?’

Lucy turned to her children. ‘Go on, go and get yourselves downstairs and wait by the front door. Sarah Jane, don’t you dare open it till I come.’

After the children had gone, each clutching the soft toy Benny had given them, Lucy confronted her mother, face set with stubborn resolve. ‘I’ve done my best but I don’t love Tom any more, for all he’s still me husband. And I’ll not have him lording it over me, ordering me about as if he alone can decide what I can and cannot do. He left our Sean and Sarah Jane on their own for hours yesterday evening when I went up to Minnie’s about my job. That wasn’t right.
And
he admits to attacking Michael with a brick, and sending him three white feathers, which is unforgivable.’

‘That was jealousy.’

‘Whatever the reason, it was a wicked thing to do. Michael’s a brave man who fought for his country like the rest, and lost his foot in doing so.’

Polly sat down on the bed while Lucy continued to stuff clothes into a bag, not bothering to fold them. ‘You love him don’t you?’

She didn’t attempt to deny it. ‘And he loves me.’

‘So you’ll risk the vindictive old hags, of being ostracised by everyone?’ Polly quietly watched her daughter.

‘If he’ll have me, which I believe he will, yes. I’d be his wife in the eyes of God, at least, if not the law of the land. Like it or lump it.’

Polly was shaking her head. ‘Aw Lucy, m’cushla. If only life were that simple. Sure and wouldn’t the shame of it drive you apart in the end. Look what the gossips are already doing to him.’ She reached out a hand, but Lucy snatched up the bag and backed away.

‘No, don’t say anything. I’ve made up my mind.’

Then Polly did what she’d promised herself she would never do, and set about interfering in her daughter’s life. ‘Listen to your old mam for once. Haven’t I warned you how Tom needs time to heal. As a prisoner of war, he knew what he had to do. Wasn’t it all set out for him, plain as the nose on his face? He had to escape and so he did. If he forgot to write, or was too ill to do so, can you not find it in your heart to forgive him? He came home as soon as he could and if he’s finding it hard to adjust then you must be patient. Hasn’t the war damaged us all? No one said that getting back to normal would be easy, because it never is. But the poor boy is devastated. He thinks he’s lost you by his clumsiness. It’s a place of your own that the pair of you need, not to be crowded in our front parlour, or in separate beds. You need to give this marriage a chance, to try and make it work for the children’s sake at least. Don’t they love their Da? And doesn’t Tom love you, bless his heart?’

Lucy was staring into her mother’s soft face and tears were running unchecked down her cheeks. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I want you to be happy, so I do, but running off with another man isn’t the way m’cushla, and it’s sorry I am that you love him so. But if Tom has made mistakes, isn’t it only out of jealousy and love for you? Who knows what he’s suffered in the past? Ye have to give the poor man a chance.’ Lucy was weeping on Polly’s shoulder as if her heart were broken, for surely it was.

Losing her job was like losing her identity, not simply her independence. Lucy no longer had any money of her own but was entirely dependent upon what Tom handed to her each week out of his dole money. She even missed her daily sparring with the old dragon. And she rarely saw Michael. She found every excuse she could to nip out to the shops on any pretext, just on the off-chance she might see him. But she never did.

Tom wasn’t an early riser and one morning, before he was even awake, Lucy slipped up the street to number 179 and waited for him to come out of his front door prompt at six-thirty. She had to see him one more time, if only to explain. He was startled to see her but his face lit up with delight. Grabbing her hand Michael pulled her into Nelson’s ginnel and in seconds was covering her face with kisses. It was several moments before either of them had the breath to speak, and it was only to endlessly repeat the inevitable, Michael insisting she should leave Tom, and Lucy trying to explain why she couldn’t. Not just yet anyway.

‘How can I? The children. Mam. He’s still not well but he’s determined to make a go of things and he’s trying to find us a house. It’s all so difficult.’

He was kissing her again, hot fierce kisses that she couldn’t get enough of. She felt herself weakening with every blistering kiss, every pulsing touch and caress. Lucy pressed herself shamelessly against him, her fingers threading through his hair, as if by moulding herself to him she could make them one.

‘I want you, Lucy.’

‘And I want you.’ It was the most desperately difficult thing she had ever done but she finally summoned the strength to put a stop to the kisses, even if it was only to lay her hot cheek against his pounding heart.

Michael gently stroked her hair and her mind turned back to VJ Day, to the day she’d received the telegram and her world had fallen apart by the news that her husband was dead, leaving her in a state of shock and disbelief. Somehow she’d learned to accept it, to go on with her life. Yet only a few months later she’d taken a day trip to Belle Vue with her children and fallen in love with this wonderful man.

As she lifted her head and captured his mouth with her own, the sensations of joy were blurred and she felt sick with fear for the future. Nevertheless she was sure that her mother must be right; running off with Michael would only destroy their love and gain them nothing. She didn’t protest when he slid open her blouse and caressed her breast, only moaned and threw back her head in an agony of pain and delight. She needed to savour every last moment with him. Did this wanton behaviour make her wicked? Did it mark her as a “loose woman” as the self-righteous Lily Gantry would no doubt claim. How could it be wicked when it felt so wonderful, so gloriously right? It surprised her that Minnie didn’t class her as such. Minnie Hopkins was a constant mystery to her, the kind of woman whose opinions you could never predict.
 

How full of optimism they’d all been just a few short months ago, glad that the war was over at last, that they were still young with all of life before them even if the first flush of youth had gone. Belinda doing up that old shop, buying a bench and tools for Benny to get started on his dreams, falling in love and marrying him, content to be carrying his child despite the difficulties of making ends meet and dealing with the disapproval of her parents. But Benny had somehow failed to get the allocation licence he needed so that he’d grown more and more desperate and left his new wife too much on her own. Poor Belinda And now she had even worse problems.

They drew apart at last, Michael begging her not to abandon him completely, to at least meet him now and then whenever she could get away. Lucy was shaking her head, tears standing proud in her eyes as she backed away.

‘How can I? Tom would find out. He deserves a chance, a home and a wife to come home to after what he’s been through. I have to give him that chance. It’s the least I owe him.’

‘What about me? Us? I love you, Lucy. I need you desperately.’

She gave a little sob and turning, hurried away through the cobbled ginnel back to Pansy Street, for how could she resist such persuasive arguments when she needed him so badly?

Belinda stood holding open her larder door and gazed upon empty shelves. Not even a heel of bread left in the jar. Her stomach ached with hunger since she’d had little more than a bowl of vegetable broth the day before which Polly had brought them. What they would’ve done without her mother-in-law during these last weeks, she didn’t care to consider. But even Polly didn’t know the whole truth for Belinda had learned to hide their penurious state, putting on quite an act in order to give the impression all was well.

Pulling a shawl close about her head for warmth, she fished her purse out of a drawer and found that it too was empty. She dropped it back in with a heavy sigh. How much longer could she continue with this pretence? There was not a scrap of food in the house to feed herself, let alone the child growing inside her. Whatever she’d hoped for in Civvy Street, a new career, a life of purpose and meaning, a way of using her intelligence and training, this was far from those dreams.

The papers said that London only had a week of coal left. Well, she didn’t have any. It was February and she was now keeping her gloves, scarf and coat on all day in order to combat the near arctic temperatures in the house. Outside, the streets were thick with snow and slush. It was said to be the worst winter on record. Thousands of people had been sent home from work in Manchester as factories closed for lack of power. There was no coal to be had anywhere, despite the fact that tons of the stuff was piled up at the pits, it couldn’t be delivered as roads were apparently blocked by drifts as high as ten foot. Even the street lights had been blacked out again, as a conserving measure. She and Benny had been eating by candlelight for days now, and it wasn’t in order to find romance. In fact she rarely saw him these days and when she did, he was exhausted.

He spent most of each day tramping the snow-packed streets looking for work, any sort of work. Gone were his hopes now, along with his dreams and the last vestige of pride. But even Polly wasn’t able to offer him employment now as she too was laying people off, struggling to stay afloat. Not that he would ever ask her.

For Belinda it was a living nightmare. Living in these two poky rooms had proved to be more dreadful than she could ever have anticipated. Sometimes she heard the landlord hammering on the door, shouting rude words to her as he demanded she come down and pay the rent she owed. She would pull the blanket over her head, for she spent most of the time in bed as the only warm place, and shut her ears. How could she pay him? She had nothing.

Benny was doing his best. She knew that. And without question he loved her but nothing was quite the same. All the fun had gone out of life. They no longer had the energy to enjoy anything, not even their little spats which had nearly always led to love making. Quite out of the question in any case, since she was due in about four weeks. God knows what would happen then. Belinda daren’t even think about it except to hope that they’d keep her in the nursing home for ten days or so. The doctor told her the baby was coming along fine, all that healthy free orange juice he gave her to drink, plus cod liver oil and malt. She practically lived on the stuff and didn’t dare tell him how meagre the rest of her diet had become.

Worst of all, Benny no longer believed in himself. Every night he moaned at the state he’d reduced them to, and every night she would hold him close and assure him of her continuing faith in him. For all Lucy said he was a dreamer with unrealistic ambitions, Belinda didn’t for one moment believe their dire state was all his fault. Perhaps she should have gone to see her father, tackled him face to face and found out just what he was up to. Perhaps she’d been a coward not to. She hadn’t done so because she still fervently believed that Benny would make something of himself in the end. Just because he’d kicked over the traces a bit after six years of grinding war service didn’t make him bad, only foolish. And everyone was entitled to their independence, and to a dream.

Hunger and frustration caused tears to roll down her cheeks, making her feel giddy and light-headed. Her ankles were swollen and there was a constant stitch in her side. When he came bursting through the door late that evening, covered in snow and freezing cold, he glared at the bare table and then at her.

‘Where’s my dinner?’

Belinda shook her head. She knew he was at the end of his tether, that like her, he missed the jovial company of his comrades, the routine of army life, even the excitement of war. The last thing he needed right now was to listen to a nagging wife at the end of another fruitless day. But she nursed a terrible fear for her child and their future and no longer had the strength to be quite so mindful of his ego. The accusing words came out of her mouth seemingly of their own accord. ‘Where’s the money to pay for it?’

His round face grew so red that she thought he might explode. Then he thrust his hand in his pocket, took out a pitiful few coppers and flung them on to the wooden table. Three pennies rolled across its scratched surface, one tipped over the edge and rolled away into a corner. Belinda knew she’d hunt for it on her hands and knees later. For now she wanted only to erase the pain from his beloved face. ‘Oh, Benny what’s gone wrong? Why do we quarrel?’