Birmingham Blitz (47 page)

The other person in our family who was happy as Larry was Len. Molly was coming up to seven months pregnant and was like the side of a house. Her big belly fascinated Len. Actually it fascinated Shirl too and she was forever leaning over Molly, asking questions about how it felt, was it kicking and all that. Len was a funny mixture of behaviour with Molly. He could ignore her for ages at a time while he fiddled about with Gloria, chuckled away at wireless programmes and forgot even to answer her as if she plain didn’t exist. Other times he was all over her, feeling the babby moving whoever else was about, and stroking and kissing her as if she was a dolly or a pet dog until sometimes she got a bit sharp with him.

‘Aw leave off, Lenny, will yer?’

Mister loved Molly and had been in the habit of curling up on her enormous cushions of thighs when she was around.

‘Ooh!’ Molly cried, shaking with laughter one evening when Mister leapt up in a great hurry and shot off her lap. ‘The babby’s kicked ’im off of me! ’E’s going to be a footballer ’e is!’

The two of them often came over and sat with us, eating anything in sight, Gloria on, completely comfortable with everything in a way I never saw in anyone else. No restlessness, no question about Mom or worry about the way she was. No discontent. Nothing. That was Len and Molly – happy in chairs, for ever.

They were there when the siren went early on that month and Mister leapt up – this time off me – and howled, head back, the black and white fur across his throat stretched tight.

‘Oh Lor,’ Molly grunted, struggling to get out of her chair and not managing. ‘Pull me up, Lenny. I’ll ’ave to get over to Mom’s.’

As she went, Lenny taking her along, Shirl and I started organizing. Tea in a flask. No booze. Light, coats, rugs.

‘Len,’ I called, hearing him come back in. ‘Come and help with Mom.’ But he lumbered in, picked up Gloria before anything else and stowed her under the stairs.

‘My God,’ I said to Shirl. ‘What happened to women and children first?’

‘No—’ Mom was struggling to speak. ‘I’m not going. Not out there.’

‘Please, Mom, come on. We’ve got to.’

‘NO.’ She pulled her bad arm in close with the other one and leaned forward, curling in on herself.

What with the siren going and Mister howling and my nerves already in shreds before all that, I felt as if I was going to explode.

‘What the hell am I s’posed to do?’ I raged at Shirl. ‘I can’t force her, can I? What does it matter if we go out there anyway? We could all get killed whatever we do.’

Shirl took over, squeezed my arm. ‘You’re awright, Genie,’ she said, sounding like Mr Tailor. She bent over Mom. ‘Mrs Watkins, we’re going to take you to the shelter. You can’t stay ’ere.’

Mom hadn’t the strength to resist us for long but I could feel the distress coming from her and I felt terrible. But I couldn’t help thinking about Mrs Deakin and we struggled down the garden and got her inside. I put the Tilley lamp down on the floor and we laid Mom on one of the bunks, covering her up well. She turned her face away towards the corrugated wall.

Len brought Mister and closed us in. As the door shut I thought about tombs. Mister whimpered and came over to me.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ I said to Shirl for the umpteenth time.

Her big eyes shone in the lamplight. ‘Not ’alf as glad as I am, I can tell you.’

‘What does your dad do – in the raids I mean?’

‘Oh, ’e’ll be all right. The factory’s over Duddesdon – they’ve got a shelter there.’

‘What, so you was on your own of a night?’

‘Went round the neighbours – they’ve got a cellar. But I’d much rather be ’ere with you, Genie.’ She turned her head. ‘We’re OK, aren’t we Len?’ she said, squeezing his arm. She nodded across at Mom and mouthed at me. ‘She awright?’

I reached round, took Mom’s good hand and held it. ‘You asleep, Mom?’

She made a little noise so I knew she wasn’t.

‘You warm enough?’

‘I’m OK.’ It was a hoarse whisper.

When I turned back to Shirl I could see the pity in her eyes and I didn’t know if it was for Mom or me. But seeing someone else looking in on my life made me feel so terrible about everything, the way it’d been broken and changed. First Big Patsy, Dad and Eric – even Lola, I felt sad about her – Mom and Bob and the dead babby, and Joe. But no, not Joe. I wasn’t even going to let myself think about him . . .

Shirl made jokes to try and keep us going and I tried to laugh, thankful to her because it wasn’t as if she had a lot to laugh about either. We talked in short bursts, going quiet when the planes came over, shrinking our heads down into our necks and cringing until they passed. A couple of times as it was going quiet Len put his arm round Shirl, and she said, ‘Oh, you’re a devil, you are.’

And I held Mom’s hand and felt her silence like a leaden weight behind me.

I found Nan alone in her house the next day, down on her hands and her one good knee, the other bent up in front, blackleading the range.

‘Here, let me do that.’ I took the cloth and polish off her and tried to rub off some of my outrage at Lil on to its black surface.

‘She said she was going to come back. Sod her! I mean it’s not as if Frank would even have been in with a raid on!’

‘It would’ve been too late for ’er to come with the raid already started.’ Nan had managed to pull herself stiffly to her feet. ‘And anyroad, I’m awright. Take more than a load of Jerries to frighten me, I can tell you.’

She looked tired though. ‘It’s just not right you being on your own. Lil should know better.’ I found I was shaking with anger, wanting to scream with it. There was never anything you could do about anything. I wanted to come and keep my nan company of a night, but how could I with Mom the way she was? And going into her house felt awful – no Lil, no kids running round.

Nan waved a hand at me to shut me up. ‘How’s your mother?’

‘Same.’ I was scrubbing like mad at the range.

‘You’re all skin and bone. You still being sick?’

‘No.’

She absorbed this, then said. ‘Morgan was bombed out last night – ’is place over in Aston.’

I stopped and looked round. ‘D’he get out?’

‘Oh, that sort always do. Rat out of a sewer. ’E was in the cellar, not a scratch on ’im. ’E was over earlier to see what state the room up ’ere’s in again.’

‘He’s never thinking of moving in here?’

‘Not unless he wants rain on his face every night. D’you know what ’e ’ad the nerve to ask me?’ She didn’t sound all that outraged, just exhausted. ‘“You being on your own now, Mrs Rawson, I was wondering if you could spare me one of your rooms for a bit?” Rubbing ’is hands together how ’e does.’

‘Nan, you never . . .?’

A wicked twinkle came into her eyes. ‘I told him I only ever live with men if I’m married to ’em, ta very much. That drained the colour out of ’im I can tell you.’ She let out a big laugh and it was good to hear her. ‘’E says ’e’s lost his business and ’e can’t do any repairs till ’e gets the insurance and there’s no telling ’ow long that’ll take. So that’ll keep ’im out of action for a bit!’

‘Nan!’ I laughed with her.

Wiping her eyes, she said, ‘’E’s ’aving to find somewhere else to move in with his Mom!’

‘God, you can’t imagine him being anyone’s son, can you?’ Remembering, I pulled a letter from my pocket. ‘This came today. I haven’t shown it her.’

Eric’s letter contained the usual wooden scraps of news that we’d had to get used to, but in the middle he wrote, ‘Mummy says I can stay here for good if I want to.’ Mrs Spenser had let him leave it in. She’d obviously wanted us to see it.

‘Mummy?’ Nan flared. She stared in disbelief. It wasn’t just Eric thinking of Mrs S as his mom, it was him sounding like a toffy-nosed twit into the bargain.

‘She can’t do that, can she? She can’t just keep him?’ I was tearful all of a sudden. ‘Soon there’ll be nothing left.’

Nan gave my shoulder a pat. ‘She can’t just keep ’im, not unless—’ She broke off and I knew she was thinking of Mom, of what sort of life Eric was going to come back to here. He wouldn’t be getting piano lessons, that was for certain. I could see the grief in Nan’s face, just for a quick flash. ‘No. She can’t just do as she likes.’

Teresa and her mom were spending as much time as they could over in the Quarter because it was obvious Nonna Amelia was dying. But Teresa found time to call in and visit us and ask if I wanted to go and see the old lady for what would surely be the last time.

Teresa hadn’t seen Mom since she’d come home. Mom hated anyone in the house, couldn’t stand to be seen in her state. And Teresa couldn’t keep the shock out of her face.

‘It’s terrible, Genie,’ she said as we set off towards town. ‘Is she going to get any better?’

I told her the little bit of hope we had. Even talking to Teresa I felt at a distance from her, and fiercely protective of Mom. I was almost sorry I’d let Teresa see her. Mom wouldn’t go out at all, didn’t want the neighbours’ tongues wagging any more than they had already. Teresa was an outsider in this. It was Shirl who’d come in and got involved and I felt closer to her nowadays, and somehow that was another sad thing. I could tell Teresa didn’t know what to say to me and I couldn’t speak to her. If I asked about Carlo she’d be bound to bring up the subject of Joe, so I said nothing and walked along with my old friend feeling distant and tense.

Vera was already at Nonna Amelia’s house with her sister and the youngest of the children. They greeted me warmly, but whether in Italian or English, everyone was speaking in hushed voices, as if Death was already in a conversation with the old lady that they were afraid to interrupt.

‘You want to see her?’ Vera led me upstairs, treading very quietly on the staircase. Teresa stayed down. Vera showed me into the room and then, to my surprise, left me and went down again. Soon I knew why. Communing with the dying’s best done on your own.

There was no light in the room. It was a grey, overcast day, and the curtains had been half drawn, leaving a gap of only about eighteen inches between them. Nonna Amelia was lying in her enormous bed with its high wooden bedstead in such deep brown wood it looked black. The only part of her to be seen was her face because the rest of her was well covered up with sheets and blankets, an eiderdown and a brocade coverlet. They seemed to have piled everything possible on top of her to try and keep the warmth in her tiny, shrunken body.

I could barely even see her face in the dim light and I moved closer to the bed. Her white hair was swept back behind her head which was resting on a white pillow slip embroidered with green leaves at one edge. I licked my dry lips and went to stand right by her. I didn’t feel frightened or sad, just awed. Like a tiny, new-born babby, she was already half somewhere else that the rest of us have forgotten, with this life we know still just clinging to her. Now those wise, dancing eyes were closed there was only a shrunken, bony face, the skin yellow, the Nonna Amelia we knew blown out like a match. But she was still there. I could hear her breathing.

‘Nonna Amelia?’ I whispered, putting my face close to hers. ‘It’s Genie – Watkins. Teresa’s friend. I don’t know if you can hear me. I just wanted to say—’ What the hell did I want to say? What do you say to someone when you know it’s the last thing you’ll ever say to them? And if she could hear me she most likely wouldn’t understand a word.

I pulled up a chair and sat leaning forward towards her. For quite a time I didn’t say anything and that was OK. But then in a funny sort of way I felt as if she was listening to me, not like her, the old her, but just a sort of presence there to listen, like a priest or a statue.

‘I wanted to say—’ I hesitated, then looked away from her face and kept talking. ‘I’ve always looked up to you, Nonna Amelia, because you’re the sort of person who everyone loves. D’you know that? You might not have noticed, like Teresa hadn’t until the war came – I expect you have though, because so many things have happened to you, haven’t they, to make you wise?’ I talked in fits and starts, not sure half the time whether I’d said something or just thought it. ‘All I can say is I envy you your life because you’ve made a lovely family who all respect and love you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted really, to have a family who are happy and who love me. But I can’t seem to make it happen however hard I try. I thought, just for a little time – the best time of my life—’ As I said this my throat started aching and I had to stop and swallow hard. ‘I thought I might be able to have it with Joe. I tasted what it might be like . . . But now I know that was only a dream . . . I’ve wrecked everything and I know things don’t happen for me like that, and it’s all falling apart round me and I can’t keep it together . . .’

Words kept coming out of my mouth, about Mom and Joe and how bad I was feeling. Words I couldn’t have said to anyone else. I felt she was listening, but maybe that was because I wanted someone to. After, I leaned down and kissed those cheeks, soft as flower petals, staring into the shadowy face of this old lady whose life was laid out in front of me.

A light sigh came from the bed, a lift in the breathing, little shudders in the rhythm as she breathed out. I stood up and managed to smile at her. ‘Thanks, Nonna Amelia.’

It was a moment before I saw that had been her final breath. No, it couldn’t be! I lifted the covers and felt around in a panic for a pulse in her frail wrist. Nothing. I hardly remembered getting downstairs.