Keep Smiling Through (17 page)

‘To be sure, you’re a clever wee girl.’ He grabbed the newspapers that were piled on the floor next to the range and began to parcel the birds. ‘How’s Da? Any change?’

‘He’s still out cold,’ said Anne. ‘But he’s a better colour and his breathing is less ragged. He’d do better without Harvey climbing all over him,’ she added crossly. ‘Please, Dad. Get him out of here.’

‘In a minute,’ he rasped, still fumbling with paper and string.

Anne realised her father was more interested in getting rid of the evidence of Ron’s poaching than seeing to the dog. She gave up trying to still the animal and turned instead to Mrs Finch. ‘Could you get me a bowl of warm water and a cloth? I need to clean Granddad up and see how deep this head wound is.’

Jim was still making a hash of his parcels when he heard the loud clanging bell of the fast approaching ambulance. He froze as a terrible thought struck him. ‘The stuff in the shed,’ he shouted. ‘I forgot about the stuff in the shed.’

‘You mean the cigarettes, rum and whisky?’ Mrs Finch looked at him sternly. ‘There’s no time to move them now. You’d better shut Harvey in there. He’ll be frantic enough to bark non-stop, and that should keep the police away.’

‘To be sure, you’ve a mind like a first-class criminal,’ Jim said admiringly.

‘Takes one to know one,’ retorted Mrs Finch, ‘and I’ve lived in this house long enough to learn lots of new tricks. Now get on with you.’

Jim grabbed a protesting, struggling Harvey by the collar and raced down the cellar steps, grabbing the two hanging birds on his way to the compost heap.

Anne struggled to her feet as she heard the ambulance come along Camden Road. She grabbed the canvas parachute bag and quickly stuffed it under the wool and needles in Mrs Finch’s enormous knitting bag before peeking through the blackout curtains of the kitchen window.

She saw her father slam the shed door on a ferociously barking Harvey before he began to dig furiously in the compost. Her gaze caught the gleam of parachute silk lying across the vegetable patch, and she quickly unlatched the window.

‘The parachute, Dad!’ she hissed, as the ambulance drew up into the road. ‘Don’t forget the parachute.’

She heard him curse before she slammed the window and saw him hastily gathering up the parachute and stuffing it down the hole he’d just dug. She let the blackout curtain fall back over the window, took a deep breath to calm herself, and went to let the ambulance crew in. As was expected, they were accompanied by a policeman.

Rita locked the motorbike in the garage and went upstairs to wash and change before she went next door. She was smiling as she ran a brush through her hair and thought about the young American. He was a bit brash, but it had been lovely to be asked out for a drink – even if he was more interested in the Norton than her.

‘Ah, well,’ she sighed, reaching for her coat and gas mask box. ‘At least I had the offer, and they don’t come too often.’ She hurried downstairs, locked up behind her and made her way in the darkness to the house next door.

Louise was busy at the stove and there was a delicious aroma lingering in the air. ‘You’re looking pleased with yourself,’ she said as she turned and smiled at Rita. ‘Had a good day?’

Rita grinned as she pulled off her coat and hung it on the back of the door. ‘I got propositioned this evening,’ she said gaily, ‘by a Yank.’

Louise turned sharply from the pot on the stove. ‘You don’t want to be starting all that,’ she said in rapid Italian. ‘You know how much trouble Vi is causing in the street, and you have your reputation to think of.’

She might have known Louise wouldn’t approve. ‘He only asked me out for a drink,’ she replied deliberately in English. ‘And as I turned him down, there’s no need to get so hot under the collar.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Louise murmured, still in Italian. ‘But with Papa and Roberto away, it’s a big responsibility for me to make sure you’re kept safe. You’re a pretty young girl, and there are too many men on the prowl who would take advantage.’

‘I might be young, but I’m not daft,’ Rita retorted.

Louise put her hands on her hips, her face scarlet with emotion. ‘You have no experience of life,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘What do you know of men, eh? This war brings trouble to girls like you. It’s important you are careful.’

Rita was taken aback by her vehemence. If she was like this over a passing chat with an American airman, how would she react when she told her about the dispatch rider’s application? She decided to change the subject before things got even more fraught. ‘What’s that heavenly smell?’ she asked instead.

‘Tomorrow’s dinner, and you’re not to look in the larder,’ Louise replied with unusual sharpness. ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘I’m sorry if you’re upset, Mamma,’ Rita said softly. ‘But you really shouldn’t worry about me. I’m quite sensible, you know, and wouldn’t do anything silly.’

Louise gave a great sigh, left her cooking pots and sat at the table. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said, remembering to keep to English, ‘It’s just that I’m afraid for you with so many servicemen about.’ She gave Rita a watery smile. ‘So,’ she said, clearly making an effort to remain calm. ‘Tell me about this American.’

Rita decided it would do no harm – after all, nothing much had happened. ‘He was young and pleasant, and of course his manners were impeccable. He came from Oregon, wherever that is, and I think he’s a bit fed up with not being allowed to work with our airmen.’ She giggled. ‘He was more interested in the motorbike, really,’ she confessed, ‘and I think he just wanted to talk about his brother, who has the same model Norton.’

‘That’s what he wanted you to think,’ said Louise, her eyes narrowing.

‘Oh, Mamma, don’t be so . . . so cynical. Of course he was genuine.’ Rita giggled again. ‘Honestly, Mamma, what man could possibly want to be seen in a pub with a girl dressed in ratty old clothes with grease on her face and sweaty hair?’

‘Roberto wouldn’t mind,’ Louise said softly.

‘Roberto doesn’t count,’ said Rita firmly. ‘He’s known me since I had droopy drawers and a face smothered in jam.’

There was a long silence and Rita suddenly had an awful feeling she knew where this was about to go.

Louise looked at her and frowned. ‘You don’t love my Roberto?’

This was dangerous ground, and Rita knew she had to tread carefully. ‘I love him as a brother, Mamma,’ she said softly in Italian. ‘And I miss him as a brother.’

The tears sprang to Louise’s eyes and she hastily wiped them away with her apron. ‘You know Papa and I have always wished for you and Roberto to be married? Can you not love him just a little?’

Rita took her hand across the table. ‘I’m sorry, Mamma. Perhaps when he comes home and we’re both a bit older things might change. But for now . . . Well, for now it’s best to keep things simple.’

Louise considered this and then nodded. ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘Both of you are too young to make such decisions now. After the war it will be different. Roberto will come home and you will know then that you are right for each other.’ She nodded as if to confirm this. ‘Then everything will be just as it should be – you’ll see.’

Rita kept her thoughts to herself as Louise returned to her cooking.

‘We have cabbage, parsnip and potato cakes tonight. I’m saving everything else for tomorrow.’ She fell silent and dipped her chin. ‘Tino loved my potato cakes,’ she said unsteadily. ‘
Mamma mia
, how I miss him.’

Rita hurried to her side, saw the tears spilling down her face and took her in her arms. ‘I miss him too,’ she said softly. ‘Come, Mamma, don’t upset yourself.’

Louise gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. ‘You are such a good girl, Rita,’ she murmured through her tears. ‘I thank God every day that you are with me in these terrible times, for I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

Ron was swimming against the tide of darkness which seemed determined to ensnare him and pull him into its clutches. He could hear the murmur of voices, the soft squeak of shoes on a polished floor and the rustle of clothing. As he struggled to emerge from this sea of black he caught the tang of disinfectant and the unmistakable smell of hospital.

He shot out of the clinging darkness and opened his eyes. He hated hospitals. He had to get out of here.

‘Granddad, lie still.’

He paused in the act of trying to throw off the restricting sheet and blankets. ‘Anne?’ he asked, bewildered by his surroundings and the fact that he couldn’t see her properly.

‘It’s all right,’ she said softly. ‘You’ve had a nasty bump on the head and the doctors want you to stay in overnight.’

His senses cleared a little and he became aware of the tightness in his chest and the awful pounding in his head. ‘I’m fine,’ he rumbled. ‘Help me get out of here.’

‘You are not going anywhere until I give you permission.’

Ron looked up at the stern face of the middle-aged woman who loomed over him in pristine blue and starched white. ‘I’ll be going whether you like it or not,’ he retorted, struggling to breathe and deal with the pain in his head at the same time.

The heavily starched wings on her cap seemed to stiffen further at his impudence. ‘I’m in charge of this hospital, Mr Reilly. You will do as I say.’ She forcibly tucked in the sheet and blankets, making it impossible for him to move.

‘Sour-faced old baggage,’ he muttered with a glower.

‘Sticks and stones, Mr Reilly. Sticks and stones.’ With that, she rammed a mask over his face, checked the dials on the oxygen tank and then marched purposefully back to the other end of the ward.

He ripped the mask away. ‘Who the divil was that old battleaxe?’ he rasped.

‘Matron Billings,’ said Anne, fighting back a giggle. ‘She’s a bit of a tartar, isn’t she?’ She reached for the mask and gently put it over his mouth and nose. ‘I know you hate this, but it will help you breathe more easily.’

Ron’s chest felt heavy, and his head was hurting so badly it was difficult to think. But Anne was right, blast her, his breathing did feel easier with this blessed thing on his face. ‘What happened?’ he asked, his voice muffled by the hated mask. ‘Why am I in this godforsaken place?’

Anne told him about how he’d come home carrying the injured pilot and then hit his head as he dropped in a dead faint on the kitchen floor. ‘You’re quite the hero, Grandpa,’ she said fondly as she took his hand. ‘That young pilot has you to thank for saving his life.’

‘The boy’s here too?’

She nodded. ‘In another ward. He’s broken his leg in three places and lost a lot of blood, but he’s young and strong and will pull through.’ Her expression grew solemn. ‘Grandpa, the doctor thinks you may have pneumonia. It could be a while before you can come home again. Please be good and do as they ask.’

Ron looked at her over the mask, and was about to tell her not to treat him like a child when he had an awful thought. He ripped the mask from his face and grabbed her hand. ‘The pheasants and duck,’ he rasped, ‘and the stuff in the shed.’

‘I was wondering when you were going to remember,’ she replied with a soft smile as she rescued the mask and put it back over his face. ‘It was a close-run thing. Dad shut Harvey in the shed so his barking would keep everyone out of there, and he’d only just finished hiding everything else when the ambulance and police arrived.’

Ron’s heart was thudding. ‘Police?’ he managed.

Anne nodded and patted his hand. ‘It’s all right. It was Sergeant Williams, and he was only there because of the downed pilot.’ She eyed him sternly. ‘But he did take Dad aside and asked him if he knew anything about ducks. It seems Lord Cliffe has made a complaint about someone poaching from his pond.’

Ron feigned ignorance. ‘Harvey caught that duck on his own. I have no idea where he got it.’

‘Of course you don’t.’ She grinned. ‘I don’t know, Grandpa. Mum’s only been gone a matter of hours and look where we are. Let’s hope there won’t be any more dramatics before she gets back.’

Ron closed his eyes. It was a good thing Jim had been quick off the mark, but those cigarettes and bottles of drink would have to be moved – and soon. He squirmed against the tight bindings of sheet and blanket and wrestled to free himself of the mask. ‘Tell your father I need to see him,’ he said urgently. ‘And it has to be tonight.’

‘Visiting hour is almost over. It will have to wait until tomorrow.’

He grabbed her hand. ‘Tell him to move the stuff from the shed. Rosie will put it in her cellar for me. She’s done it before.’

‘He’s already started on that,’ she said. ‘Honestly, Grandpa, is it worth it for all the trouble it causes?’

Ron was too weary and in too much pain to reply, but he would have told her that it was – for the excitement of putting one over on Sergeant Williams and Lord Cliffe and, more to the point, for the money that contraband would bring in.

RITA HAD STAYED
at Louise’s as she usually did when their nights off coincided, and she had spent it restlessly in Roberto’s bedroom, fretting over her application and Louise’s reaction to it.

She lay in the comfortable bed in almost total darkness – it was still very early and the sun had yet to rise and penetrate the thick blackout curtains – and tried not to think where Roberto and Tino might be at this moment. There had been so many rumours, but no one seemed to really know or care where they had been sent. And that made her very sad.

She could just make out the bulk of the wardrobe and the heavy chest of drawers where Louise had carefully tidied all of Roberto’s clothes away, and knew, without being able to see, that his shaving kit and hairbrush still stood on the top of the chest, and his dressing gown hung from the back of the door. They were stark reminders that he’d been snatched away without even these most basic personal possessions, and it made her angry to think of how badly he and Papa had been treated.

The door creaked open and light flooded in from the gas lamps in the main room as Louise stepped over the threshold. ‘Happy birthday, Rita. Time to get up and open your presents.’

She swung out of bed and returned Louise’s hug. ‘Gosh, I don’t feel another year older,’ she said, doing her best to dispel the weariness with a bright smile.