A Wartime Christmas (24 page)

Kay smiled. ‘Alfie can’t wait to join them in school.’

‘It won’t be long now. He’s big for his age,’ observed Babs. ‘With all that lovely dark hair and wide smile, him and Sean could be mistaken for—’ Babs
stopped, going red. ‘Oh, sorry! It just slipped out.’

But Kay was nodding. ‘The thought’s crossed my mind too. Though I know it can’t be true they’re half-brothers.’

‘Course it can’t.’

Kay shivered a little. Dolly had managed to plant a seed in her mind and it was very difficult to ignore, especially now that Sean was filling out and looking healthier by the day. The doctor
had said that even the rickets was improving.

‘Paul’s painting the passage at the moment,’ Babs slipped into the conversation. ‘It’s looking really nice.’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’

‘Kay, I can’t stop seeing him.’

‘Babs, it’s up to you.’

‘Do you blame me?’ asked Babs sadly.

‘No. But I’m afraid for you.’

‘Paul is a good man, Kay, a really good man.’

‘So is Eddie.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Babs admitted with a sigh.

Kay thought that Paul, for all his supposed goodness, wasn’t averse to taking another man’s wife. The policeman at the station’s words rang in her ears. In wartime there were
family upsets – domestics, he called them. Were Babs and Eddie to become one of these?

‘What about Rose?’ Kay asked.

‘Who’s Rose?’

‘Paul’s girlfriend, the one from the factory.’

‘Oh, her. That was over long ago. And she wasn’t really his girlfriend. Nothing serious, anyway.’

So Babs saw her relationship with Paul as something special, Kay thought in alarm. Kay loved her friend, wanted to support her as Babs had always done for her. But to watch Babs heading for
disaster, which it could only prove to be if Eddie found out, was very upsetting.

‘Paul slept over last night,’ Babs said quietly, casting a sidelong glance at Kay. ‘He had a day off work today and said he’d get stuck into the painting.’

Kay’s heart sank. ‘What did the kids say when they saw him?’

‘He told them he’d called round early to start the decorating.’

Kay didn’t know how to respond. What would happen when Eddie found out? It was the children who would suffer if their mum and dad quarrelled.

‘Kay—’ Babs began but stopped as Gill, Tim, Alfie and Sean came running towards them. They had their school caps on backwards and their coats over their shoulders like capes.
Their laughter filled the air and echoed round the street.

Kay watched as they gathered round, laughing and talking all at once. They were so innocent and so happy; how sad it was that things in adults’ lives came along to spoil all that.

Paul was walking down Slater Street towards them. Kay could understand why Babs was attracted to this man. Wearing his workmanlike paint-spattered overalls, he cut a handsome
figure in his own way. The morning sun, which had now come out from the mist, shone down on his light-coloured hair and accentuated the blue of his eyes. Babs, who had taken in an audible breath at
the sight of him, slowed her steps.

‘Me insides go over when I see him,’ Babs confided. ‘I just can’t help it.’

‘Your insides probably did the same with Eddie, only you can’t remember,’ Kay whispered back. But Babs hadn’t heard as she fixed her eyes on the approaching figure.

‘Have you finished painting already?’ she asked Paul as he met them.

‘No, I’ve not got started, actually.’ He looked at Kay. ‘Just after you went, Dolly turned up.’

Kay’s heart dropped. ‘Where’s Vi? What happened—’

‘Vi’s in Babs’s place,’ Paul replied calmly. ‘I’ve made her a strong cup of tea and she’s having a smoke.’

Kay gasped. ‘Did Dolly come with her minder?’

‘No, she was alone and started kicking up rough with Vi. The front door was open and I heard the ruckus, so I went out immediately.’

Kay was trying to walk towards the house at the same time as talking. But Paul grabbed her arm.

‘Wait a mo, Kay. Calm down.’

‘I knew I shouldn’t have left her alone.’

‘You wasn’t to know Dolly was to turn up,’ Babs told her, but Kay was full of guilt.

‘It was probably a good thing as it happens,’ Paul explained. ‘Dolly was sounding off at the deep end. She stunk of booze, so obviously she’d needed Dutch courage to come
round without muscle. Vi was keeping her on the doorstep, telling her that Sean was in school. That she was to go to Quarry Street and speak to the head teacher, Mr Barnet, if she wanted to know
more about her son. When I pitched up, Dolly told me to shove off. I replied it was her who ought to do that and come back when she was sober. Then I saw Vi disappear indoors. When she came out
again, she gave Dolly a letter. Told her it was from the authorities who knew all about her little games and were on the lookout for her. As drunk as Dolly was, she clocked this.’

‘Did she read the letter?’

‘Yes. And I won’t repeat the language she used after.’

‘Poor Vi,’ Kay said in despair. ‘It should have been me that faced Dolly.’

Paul shrugged lightly. ‘For all her verbal, she did a bunk pretty quick.’

Kay managed to draw a deep breath. ‘Thanks, Paul.’

‘None are needed, Kay. I’m glad to be of help.’

‘I’ll go in and see Vi now.’

As Kay walked towards Babs’s house, she was trying hard to compose herself. But at the sight of a grey-faced Vi sitting in Babs’s kitchen, a roll-up trembling on her lips, Kay burst
into tears.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone,’ Kay blurted as she wrapped her arms around Vi.

‘Don’t be a silly moo,’ replied Vi with a choked laugh as she took the cigarette from her lips and blew the smoke over Kay’s head. ‘I give Dolly the letter, flower,
and in company too – Paul was a witness, so she can’t say she never got it. I reckon it was meant to be you wasn’t here. And I can tell you this, as sozzled as she was, that
letter worked like a charm. Miss Pearson done a good job and frightened the life out of her. I told Dolly we wanted her address so’s we could give it to the welfare. She nearly collapsed on
the spot.’

‘I can vouch for that,’ agreed Paul.

‘And not a word about Sean, either,’ continued Vi. ‘Matter of fact, when I told her to go up the school, her reply didn’t consist of no words to be found in the
dictionary. Dolly don’t care about Sean, not at all, except to use him when it suits her. The point is, she’s convinced you have something of hers, or rather this Alan of hers has,
though I reckon there’s a lot more to that story than she lets on.’

‘Well, it’s a story I don’t want to hear,’ said Kay. ‘I just wish she’d go away.’

‘Don’t we all,’ agreed Babs.

‘I don’t think you’ll see her anytime soon,’ commented Paul. ‘Vi’s right, that letter gave her a nasty turn.’

Kay knew she had Jean Pearson to thank for this. But how long would Dolly’s fear last? It was clear to everyone that Dolly was a neglectful mother, a liar and a bully. But, as wayward as
Dolly was, it didn’t mean to say all her story was untrue. As Kay reflected on this she shivered, her skin going cold and clammy; if this was the case then it could mean that her Alan and
Dolly’s might be one and the same.

Added to the fact that the two-seater Lysander plane was flying without any navigation other than the pilot’s map and compass, Alan was seriously doubting that the six
months of Special Operations training had been enough to prepare him for the ordeal ahead. Although he was kitted out with the latest gear – a camouflage canvas suit together with helmet and
side ear extenders, goggles and a wealth of specialized equipment strapped to his body – the safety of the training grounds of Unit 105 in the UK felt light years away. The reality of the
here and now was the pitch-black night, lightened only by the stars and his view of the land beneath, an ominous layered blanket illuminated only by an occasional twinkling. Somewhere in all that
murk, the French Resistance were waiting for his arrival.

Alan lay his sweat-laden palm on the body-wrap beneath his clothes. He intended this as a reassuring action, his body and mind having undergone a harrowing year of preparation for this moment.
But instead, fear filled him as he felt the holster of the 9mm pistol and silencer. He knew his life must depend upon the use of the weapon, the intent to kill another human being. By now, the
lengthy SOE mock-interrogations and daily practice of guerrilla warfare that he had absorbed should have prepared him. But he was nevertheless too scared, almost, to breathe.

‘You are fighting for your homeland, Lewis,’ his instructors had repeated until it had become fixed in his head. He knew his future was at stake as well as that of the country. He
had been told he must become ruthless. But was he? Many lives depended on the fact that the false information he was to plant in the military building would lead the enemy into British traps. But
now, as the cold of the night slid its icy fingers into the folds of his flying jacket, Alan recoiled at what might be ahead of him. Could he really kill another man in cold blood? And if he was
captured, would he have enough guts to end his own life?

As the noise of the plane’s engine changed, he glimpsed five individual lights below. Five illuminations, just as planned. Torches set up by the Resistance.

The pilot raised his gloved hand to signal. The Lysander dipped and along with it, Alan’s stomach. There was no time now for fear. He must work on the adrenaline. This was the border of
occupied France and supposedly neutral Spain. He would not be able to think of Kay and Alfie again, with hope, until he had fulfilled his mission.

The plane levelled precariously and bumped down on the short stretch of flat that was used as a temporary runway. Alan silently listed the small weaponry packed in his haversack. Delayed action
pencil fuses. Carefully prepared detonators to be used with the explosives the French would provide. Tinned steel tyre-bursters with mechanized triggers. Nitrated code-paper for swift destruction.
One Sten gun, seven loaded magazines and four hand grenades. Pray God, only the detonators would be required on his perilous journey.

But should their plans fail, there was a final route. In the suede belt secured around his waist, lodged next to his armoury, lay the suicide pills.

Autumn was turning to winter and Kay still hadn’t heard from Alan. She had hoped by Christmas she would receive a letter, even if it was only half a page to say he was
all right. All through the days leading up to Christmas she had reminded herself she wasn’t alone. Thousands of women were in the same position, perhaps worse, with sons, brothers, husbands
and even fathers called up to fight at the fronts.

She received Christmas cards sent from her mother and father and Len and Doris. Her brother had written very little, with no mention of the subject of adoption, but at least he had replied to
her own letter that she’d wrapped carefully inside a Christmas card. There was a note included in Lil’s card to say that it had been a great disappointment not to meet up at Len and
Doris’s. The red-breasted robin and a church in the background covered in snow bore a resemblance to Monkton, Lil told her, and the church that she and Bob attended. Presents hadn’t
been exchanged in the post; it was far too costly in wartime. But there had been a one-pound note to be spent on Alfie. The other cards arranged on the mantle were from neighbours and friends:
Jenny and Tom Edwards and their daughter Emily, Alice and Bert Tyler, the Press sisters, Stan and Elsie Tripp in Wales and Neville and Paul, whose card of the snowy Houses of Parliament was by far
the most impressive.

This year Kay had agreed to the expense of a tree. Alan’s emergency money was now down to three pounds, five shillings and a few pence. But Sean and Alfie had spent hours making
decorations and the tree, standing by the wardrobe in the front room, made the house look festive.

All through Christmas Kay wondered if Dolly would turn up. But Jean’s letter, Kay decided, must have kept her away. And before long, they were celebrating a new year. But in January,
Vi’s health broke down and Kay was very worried.

‘Severe bronchitis,’ pronounced the doctor. ‘And a nasty bout too. I’ll leave this syrup to help clear her lungs. And none of those for the moment.’ He nodded to
the tobacco pouch on the table.

‘Life ain’t worth living without me fags,’ complained Vi later as she coughed and reached for her roll-ups.

‘Take some of the syrup instead,’ suggested Kay, levelling a spoon at Vi’s dry lips.

Her friend swallowed the liquid under protest. ‘Me fags won’t kill me, but that might,’ she exclaimed.

But the bronchitis persisted and Kay kept the boys in the kitchen for the next week. She didn’t want Vi to be disturbed. But it was cold without the fire and the continual rain made the
windows steam up and condensation pool on their ledges.

‘You’re going upstairs into a proper bedroom,’ decided Kay one evening a few days later. She knew Vi wouldn’t like what she was about to say. ‘You can’t stay
down here like this, with the boys bursting in every five minutes. There’s no privacy. You need to rest properly.’

‘I ain’t gonna take yer bed, love,’ Vi spluttered.

‘You don’t have any choice,’ Kay ordered. ‘Now, put your arm around me and I’ll help you upstairs.’

Vi protested but Kay knew she was too ill to argue. Step by breathless step, they managed to climb the stairs. They were both exhausted by the time they reached the bedroom. Vi was a ghostly
white and wheezing noisily. Kay wondered if the effort had done more bad than good. But when Vi was tucked warmly into bed and the pillows propped behind her, she fell into a deep sleep.

Downstairs, Kay gazed into the embers of the fire. It was said that the smoky fumes of the coal worsened some illnesses and caused things like TB and pneumonia. If Vi wasn’t any better in
a few days, she would call the doctor again. By now, Vi didn’t even want to smoke. And that was a very bad sign indeed.

‘How’s Vi?’ Babs asked one afternoon the following week.

‘She’s resting better upstairs.’