Lizzie's War (17 page)

Lizzie realized that she was going to miss living with Beth and the twins when she married; seeing her just on visits wasn't the same, and Bernie didn't even have the telephone connected. Lizzie wasn't sure Beth would be happy with him but her friend knew what was best for her and it wouldn't be right for her to interfere. She had a new life of her own and it was right that Beth should have the same.

*

‘So Sebastian went this morning then?' Beth said when they met at Mrs Court's house and left the children with her. She'd told them she was quite happy to carry on babysitting for the time being, offering to have Betty if Lizzie wanted her to, even though Beth would be looking after her twins herself when she was married. ‘I'll be coming back with you this evening, just until the wedding – but you'll have to get that housekeeper soon, Lizzie. You don't want to be on your own there…'

‘No, I don't,' Lizzie agreed. ‘It's a bit lonely in that big house on my own. If we hadn't agreed to live together after Harry died I should probably have sold it before this.'

‘There are plenty of people looking for somewhere to live,' Beth's mother said, ‘especially after all the terrible bombing recently, but you wouldn't want to live in a couple of rooms, Lizzie.'

‘No, I've been spoiled,' Lizzie admitted, feeling lucky. ‘I'll be fine once I get a housekeeper.'

She'd spent the night before with Sebastian at home. The siren had gone early in the evening, and the resulting raid had been a terrible one. Sebastian had gone outside at one point and told her it looked as if most of London was on fire. The sound of ambulances and fire engines screaming through the streets had kept Lizzie's nerves on edge all night as she huddled in the Morrison with Betty, and yet she hadn't been frightened, perhaps because Sebastian was with them.

Mrs Court broke into her thoughts. ‘Well, I've enjoyed having the children, even if they are getting to be a handful – especially Matt. You'll have to take a firm hand with him, Beth. He has a mind of his own.'

Beth nodded but said little as they left. Lizzie looked at her sideways as they boarded the bus and sat down. ‘Something up, love?'

Beth grimaced. ‘I'm glad I'm coming back with you this evening. Mum is good with the children, but she thinks she knows best all the time and I get a bit fed up with being told how to look after them.'

‘I'll bet mothers are all like that,' Lizzie said and laughed. She had a feeling there was something Beth wasn't telling her but she didn't want to pry. Beth would say if she wanted her to know. ‘What is the situation with Mary?'

‘She's gone back to nursing and they've sent her to a military hospital in Cambridge – well, it's part of Addenbrooks, I think. They've put up a lot of prefabs in the grounds for the wounded. She seemed better in herself when she came to tell us she was off – more like she used to be and yet…' Beth shook her head. ‘Dad says he's sorted her out, but I'm glad she's going away. I still wouldn't trust her around the twins.'

‘Oh, Beth…' Lizzie felt sorry for Mary, because she couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose both her daughter and Sebastian; she didn't think she would want to go on living. ‘It's so hard for her…'

‘She isn't the only one to lose everything,' Beth said and looked grim as the bus had to take a detour round a huge crater in the road. On either side of the road they could see piles of rubble where a house had once stood, and those that were still standing had tape criss-crossed over the windows to stop them shattering in the event of a nearby blast. The air smelled of smoke and an acrid odour that made their nostrils tingle. ‘Everyone is losing something – look at that house, completely gone. It makes you wonder if the people got out or if they died in there.'

‘Mrs Jones two doors down was telling me that her sister-in-law lost her father, mother and aunt in one night's raid. They went to a shelter but it took a direct hit and collapsed.'

‘Dad built the Anderson in the garden for Mum. He reckons it's safer than a lot of the shelters.'

‘I know, but I don't like the Andersons,' Lizzie said. ‘We've been in the one your Dad built and its cold and cramped and smells – the Underground is the best, but it takes several minutes to get there and I feel safer in the house than on the streets.'

‘We've been lucky so far,' Beth nodded her agreement. ‘The Underground is all right, but as you say, we have to run for it in the dark and I'd rather just get under the Morrison and pray.'

‘I've noticed that in houses that are hit the stairs nearly always stay standing. It might be as safe under them as anywhere – but surely the Germans are going to get fed up soon and go elsewhere?'

Their bus had ground to a halt and looking out they saw it was impossible to go any further. Devastation was all round them and a factory building was still smouldering, even though the fire brigade had obviously drenched it thoroughly. Getting down with the rest of the passengers, Lizzie and Beth picked their way through the debris of broken bits of charred wood and brick. They had only one street to go and Lizzie's heart sank as she saw smoke coming from near her showroom. Had her luck run out? If the showroom and stock had gone she would have to think about what she did next.

As they turned the corner, Lizzie saw that the shop three doors from hers had been reduced to a pile of rubble, but her own was still standing. She looked at the blackened ruins and her eyes stung with tears as she thought of all the hard work that had gone on in the small tailor's shop that had stood there for three generations. Most of the street had received some damage, windows blown out, roofs with gaping holes in them, but the tailor's shop had taken the brunt of it.

She saw Mr Jacobs standing looking at the devastation, his face blackened and his grey hair streaked with smoke. He was Jewish and lived alone since his son joined the Army and his wife had died of a fever.

‘I'm so sorry,' she told him. ‘Will you come to us and have something to drink?' She knew that he must have lost everything in the blast: business, home, personal belongings. ‘I'm sure we can find somewhere for you to sleep if you need to rest.'

He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then shook his head. ‘Thank you, Lizzie, but I have friends who will give me a home – it's just that everything has gone… the business my father and grandfather built… all gone.'

She saw tears slipping through the smoke trails on his face and her heart caught with pity. He wasn't young and now he had nothing but the hope that his son might one day return.

‘If you have orders for customers, we could find you a bench to work at and you can borrow our sewing machines,' she offered, but he shook his head sadly.

‘Thank you, no. I shall find work elsewhere – but you are very kind…'

Beth pulled at her arm and she walked on. Once inside the workrooms, she saw that her own premises hadn't completely escaped. Some of the back windows had shattered and would need replacing and there was a hole in the kitchen roof. Ed was up a ladder repairing it with a piece of corrugated iron and some wood.

‘We were lucky,' he said grimly. ‘It was bad here last night, Lizzie, and even worse down the Docks. I was down the Underground and when I came back I thought we'd been hit, but this was just the fallout from the blast. I think a gas main went at the end of the road and those nearest got the worst of it.'

‘Yes, I saw what happened to Mr Jacob's property. It's so sad for him, because it's harder to start again at his age.'

‘He'll go to friends and in time he'll find a new place to work.'

‘It won't be quite the same for him, though,' Lizzie said.

‘I'll put the kettle on,' Beth said, ‘if we've got any gas in the emergency cylinder.'

‘I think we're all right,' Ed answered. ‘But wait for the moment, just until I check everything and make sure there are no leaks from the mains. We don't want an explosion.'

‘All right,' Beth said and took her kettle through to the back scullery to fill it with water. She was longing for a cup of tea, but you had to be careful after a bombing raid; even if your home was still standing there might be problems with water, gas and electric supplies. Fortunately, they still had running water and she hadn't smelled gas, but she daren't switch the electric on just in case.

The walls were thin, just a wooden partition between this tiny scullery and the kitchen, and she could hear Lizzie and Ed talking in the next room. Jean hadn't turned up for work; she was always reliable, so it made them wonder if something had happened to her or her family.

‘Tilly came round last night after you'd left,' Ed was telling Lizzie. ‘She has left Oliver's, because she says he's impossible to work for. I told her I thought you might have a place for her and she's coming back later this morning.'

‘Oh, that's brilliant,' Lizzie cried. ‘I would have asked before but I didn't want to take his best girl from him – but if she's left there's no problem. I may take on another part-time girl as well once Beth has left us, because trade is picking up again…'

*

Beth felt awful hearing herself spoken of in that way – as if a tie with her past had been cut. If she had a choice, she would still come to the showroom part-time, but she knew Bernie wouldn't agree. He'd promised her all kinds of things, but he'd made it clear that he didn't intend her to work. She was his wife and it would shame him to let her work. He had no objection to her visiting her family, but he thought a wife and mother's place was in the home.

Beth had wanted security, but sometimes she felt as if she were falling into a trap, even though she knew she had no real choice. Since she'd seen Bernie's house and instantly disliked it, she'd wished that she was marrying someone who didn't already have everything. She would have liked to choose where she lived and what she lived with. His house was big and filled with dreary brown furniture that looked donkey's years old – and the carpets were old-fashioned, as were the curtains, the colours faded to a sludgy shade that she hated.

Smothering a sigh, Beth went through to the showroom just as Jean turned up for work. She had her right arm in a sling and a bruise on the side of her face, her eyes dark shadowed.

‘We were up all night helping people,' Jean said. ‘So many of our neighbours lost their homes, though we were luckier and all we got was a hole in the scullery roof and some broken windows. It was the worst night I remember. I helped pull some children from the rubble of a house and fell over and sprained my wrist. The first-aid people made me wear a sling, but I'm sure I can use it to machine.'

‘You mustn't dream of trying,' Lizzie said as she came in from the back scullery. ‘It was a terrible night for London, Jean. I doubt we'll have many customers today. You can help me do the stocktaking until your wrist is better – Ed is going to double tape our window today. We didn't want to do it, but after last night I think we should.'

They all sat and drank their tea. Jean told them about a stray puppy she'd found in the ruins of a house, apparently abandoned. Everyone had been advised to get rid of pets before the war started, but of course some people couldn't bear to part with the animals they loved, but the poor things got very frightened in a raid and often ran away and got lost.

‘I was going to take him home,' she said, ‘but a little boy turned up crying and claimed he belonged to him so I gave it to him. He said they'd looked for the pup but couldn't find it when the siren went and his mum dragged him off down the shelter.'

‘Lucky you found it for him,' Beth said, ‘though most people have got rid of their pets now, because they can't get enough food to spare for animals. I know some friends of ours took their cats to the vets just before it all started; they told their children their pets had run away, but they'd had them put down.'

‘Oh, that's awful,' Jean said. ‘Mum kept our old cat until it disappeared in one of the raids. We used to feed it leftovers, particularly mum's rice pudding that no one likes, but old Ginger caught mice for herself.'

The shop bell went, surprising them all, and Beth went through to serve their intrepid customer. She was gone for almost an hour, because he was a regular and had decided to take an extra-large order just in case anything happened to their workrooms and he couldn't get his usual supply.

‘That was Mr Henry and would you believe it, he's taken almost everything we had in the showroom. All he left were a couple of plain cloche styles, Lizzie. He paid me in cash – look.'

‘Good gracious,' Lizzie said as she took a small wad of crisp five pound notes and tucked it in her till. ‘Do you think he sat up last night making them?'

Everyone burst into laughter. The joke wasn't that funny, even though the thought of Mr Henry forging banknotes was amusing, but it helped to clear the tension everyone had been feeling.

‘What have you got ready that isn't someone's order?' Beth asked, looking round.

‘Well, there are those soft silk berets – and a few basic hats, but nothing fancy. I shall have to get busy,' Lizzie said. ‘I think Mr Henry may be our only customer, Beth, so I'll work and leave you and Jean to stocktake.'

*

However, in thinking that the terrible night that had just passed would deter her customers from coming out, Lizzie was far from the truth. They had a stream of customers, because, they all said they were determined that Hitler wasn't going to make them hide at home in fear; it was business as usual in London, even though transport was almost non-existent in some parts of the city. Some customers were content to order from the styles on show or Lizzie's design book, but several were disappointed she had so little ready-made stock to offer. It was a relief when Tilly walked in halfway through the morning.