Now the War Is Over (34 page)

Aston came as a shock to her now as she did not go there often. It was familiar, in one way, but whereas before she had taken it all for granted, now she was struck afresh by the cramped,
mildewy houses and decaying yards, shops boarded up with half-rotted fly posters blowing in the breeze, the blank walls of factories, the smells of rotting rubbish mixing with factory smells.

When would Auntie stop being so stubborn and call it a day? She could move out any time, Melly thought. They could help her look for somewhere.

The door of number three was ajar and she heard, ‘Come in, Melly, bab,’ as soon as she knocked. Gladys was in her usual place, looking out over the yard, a half-drunk cup of tea in
front of her.

‘Fancy seeing you,’ she said dryly.

‘Hello, Auntie.’ Melly smiled. The room looked just the same as ever. It was good to be back. ‘You all right?’

‘I’ll do,’ Gladys said. ‘You’d better make a fresh pot, bab. My feet’re killing me today.’

‘Anything going on?’ Melly nodded towards the yard as she filled the kettle from a pan of water Gladys had ready.

‘Oh, you know . . .’ Gladys said. She sat up straighter, looking out. An air of sadness hung over her. She seemed tired, defeated in some way. ‘The usual. The Davieses have
gone – I don’t know where. More Irish moved in.’ She rolled her eyes, speaking in a flat tone. Melly saw in the hard daylight that her hair was now more white than anything. The
colours had been in competition and now white was winning.

‘How’re Lil and Stanley?’ Melly came and sat down.

‘Oh – you won’t’ve heard . . . She had to have them take Stanley. He went for her – she had two black eyes. He hardly seemed to know who she was any
more.’

‘Take him?’

‘To the asylum.’ Gladys jerked her head in the general direction of Winson Green.

‘They call it the mental hospital now, Auntie,’ Melly pointed out.

Gladys shrugged. ‘It’s the same place.’

‘Oh, Auntie.’ Melly’s heart ached for Lil. ‘She never wanted to do that. How is she?’

‘You know Lil. Bearing up. She goes over to see him, twice a week or so.’

Melly made tea and they talked about the family. Melly didn’t tell Gladys she was worried about Tommy. She talked a bit about the wards and dug out one or two of Berni’s stories to
make Gladys laugh.

‘I’d better be off soon,’ she said when they’d had their tea.

‘Oh – I forgot,’ Gladys said. ‘I tell you who I saw the other evening – Sat’d’y, after the market. That youngest wench of Irene Sutton’s –
Evie, wasn’t it?’

‘Did you? Goodness, she’d be seventeen by now, like Tommy!’ Melly said. ‘Did you speak to her?’

‘No. I’m sure it was her, though. Coming out of the Drover’s on some bloke’s arm.’ Gladys frowned. ‘She saw me but I don’t know if she’d’ve
known me after all this time. I tell you summat though – she’s still pretty as a picture.’

‘Poor Evie,’ Melly said. ‘That awful mother of hers. I hope she’s all right. Look, I’ll see you soon, Auntie. Ta-ra for now.’

‘Ta-ra.’ Gladys got to her feet and to Melly’s surprise, said, ‘Thanks for coming to see me, bab.’

Melly waited for the bus back into town, feeling sad, for Auntie and for Lil Gittins and the changes that life had brought them.

On the bus, part of Melly’s mind was still on the ward, thinking about what they would all be doing now and wondering how Mr Alexander was this morning. The image of his
face swam in her mind.

Her mother came to the door in her apron, Alan, who was now four, trailing behind her.

‘Oh – hello – I wondered if you’d be coming,’ Rachel said distractedly. ‘No, Alan, stop that – go on, find something to do.’

‘Hello, Alan!’ Melly greeted him. The little boy looked overjoyed to see her and came to her for a cuddle. ‘You bring something for me to do with you,’ she said to him.
‘Your cars? I’ll play with you while we have a natter.’

Rachel sank down by the table. ‘Oh – I’ll be glad when that one goes to school, that I will. He’s hard work on his own.’

Melly laughed. ‘I s’pose you haven’t had one on its own since me,’ she said.

‘Not for long, no,’ Rachel said.

They talked over the racket of Alan rolling his cars along the table.

‘Tommy all right?’ Rachel asked.

‘He’s all right,’ Rachel said. She didn’t look Melly in the eye. Melly saw she looked tired. ‘He’s a bit quiet, that’s all.’ She was holding her
cup between her hands. She had to shield it from a crash with one of Alan’s Dinky cars. ‘All right – that’s enough,’ she snapped. ‘You get down and do that on
the floor. Or do something else. You’re getting on my nerves.’

Alan slid to the floor with a dark look at his mother and scooted the cars up and down the tiles.

‘Dad still taking him over there?’

‘Some days. When he’s not out early. He’s going to Somerset every week now – buying sheepskins and that. Tommy gets the bus. It takes it out of him, though.’ She
looked across the room, still avoiding Melly’s eye. ‘It’s like blood out of a stone with him and Tommy at the moment.’

Knowing Mom, Melly thought, she wouldn’t have tried very hard either. But she could have a go herself. Suddenly she felt like the oldest child in the family again, someone who had a place
and could be useful.

‘Dad all right?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Mom said. ‘Your father’s all right. Always is.’

She was not planning to stay overnight but she waited until the others were back from school and then Tommy from work.

Ricky and Sandra got home first and were glad to see her. Kev walked in, tie all adrift, shirt unbuttoned. ‘All right, Melly?’ he said with manly disdain. But she could see he was
pleased to see her.

Tommy came in with Danny and disappeared upstairs.

‘All right, wench!’ her father said. ‘They given you a day off, have they?’

She smiled. ‘Yeah – couple of days.’

‘I wouldn’t’ve worked you as hard as all that, you know. Eh –’ he came over to her, full of enthusiasm – ‘you should come with me. I’m starting to
get cabbage from the furriers, and second-hand – beautiful stuff, some of it. Them shops are summat else, you want to see ’em. There’s one at Five Ways, got an elephant in the
shop – huge thing it is!’ He nudged her. ‘You’ll have to come.’

Melly laughed, enjoying hearing the old market names for things again – like ‘cabbage’ for seconds, or damaged goods. ‘All right, Dad – you take me one day.’
She told him she had been to see Gladys and all about Lil and Stanley.

‘Shame,’ Rachel said. ‘It shouldn’t have to come to that.’

‘I don’t want you putting me away,’ Danny called from the sink where he was washing his hands.

‘Don’t tempt me,’ Rachel retorted.

Tommy came back down, walking with his stick. As he came through the door, the noise of the telly from the front came in a burst before he closed the door again. He gave Melly a wan smile and
sank into his chair, seeming relieved. He looked paler, thinner and more worn than Melly could ever remember. His work trousers hung on him as if made for a bigger man.

‘All right, Melly?’ She was helping Mom cook tea – egg and chips. The potatoes were seething in the hot oil.

‘How’s it going, Tommy?’ She filled with pleasure at seeing his sweet, familiar face.

‘OK. What about – the – hospital?’

‘Oh, that’s nice. I like it.’

‘You’re – lucky.’ He looked away.

She was, she knew. Mom cracked eggs into the pan and they sizzled and spat. Melly lifted the chips from the fat and let them rest a moment. Mom had a metal basket now specially for cooking chips
and it made delicious ones.

‘They treating you all right?’

‘Umm.’ Tommy looked away. She lowered the chips back into the fat. The room smelt of it. Their clothes would too.

‘I’ll put some beans on,’ Rachel said.

‘Hey – look – what I – bought.’

Tommy got up again. In the corner, on the sideboard, he showed her a record player in a little red case.

‘Oh, Tommy!’ she said, excited. ‘I didn’t notice that. Did you get that with your wages?’

‘It’s second-hand,’ Rachel said. ‘Nearly new, though.’

Tommy was beaming now. ‘I’ve – only – got one – record.’ He put it on, a 45 of Bill Haley. They listened, jigging to ‘Rock Around the Clock’.
Melly felt her spirits lighten.

‘Get something nice and romantic next time,’ Rachel commented. But she looked pleased.

Once they had all eaten tea and cleared up, Melly thought, soon I’ll have to get the bus. The thought of Raimundo Alexander came to her for a moment, almost like a pain.

‘Tommy . . .’ The others had gone to the front room to watch the television. ‘You all right?’ she asked. ‘You’d say if you weren’t?’

‘Yeah.’ He looked away.

Something in his face filled her with sorrow for him. He seemed so defeated and disappointed. But he would not say any more.

When she got back to the nurses’ home late that evening, she went straight to her room to find Berni, who had not long come off duty.

Berni already had her shoes off and was lying, collapsed, on her bed.

‘You all right?’ Melly said, fearing the worst. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing.’ Berni sat up, yawning. Her hair hung in a loose coil behind her head, having just been released from being up all day. ‘Why should anything be up?’

‘I just wondered.’ Melly sat down beside her. ‘Anything new?’ She both wanted and did not want to bring up Raimundo Alexander’s name. She was very afraid that he
might have been discharged.

Berni thought, lying propped on her elbow. Then she said, ‘Not really. Mr Stafford’s still sipping away. The feller with pneumonia’s gone home now. Your Mr Gorgeous with the
asthma’s still wheezing and coughing his head off—’

‘Coughing?’ Melly said. ‘What – worse than before?’

Berni twinkled up at her. Melly had so often seen those naughty blue eyes looking at her across the room of the training school and had been reduced to giggles. The pair of them had often been
in trouble for it. But now Melly thought she saw something knowing in them, teasing her. ‘Now – why would you be asking about him?’ she said. ‘Go on now – do I see
pink cheeks?’

‘No!’ Melly laughed it off.

‘His cough’s got worse – or at least it’s not better. They were talking about him going out at the beginning of the shift and they’d changed their minds by the
end.’

She told Melly a few stories about the nursing staff which made her giggle and she went to bed happy. Even though it was her day off the next day, it sounded as if Mr Alexander would surely
still be there when she went back to work.

She was restless the next day. There were the usual chores to catch up on, washing underwear and her stockings which needed holes darning in them as well and polishing her
shoes.

In the afternoon she walked down the hill through Selly Oak. It was a damp, cold day and she had to put her umbrella up for half the walk. She bought apples and chocolate. On the way back, on
impulse, she stopped at the library next to the railway bridge and went inside.

She had hardly ever been in a library before and she immediately felt apologetic, as if she was bound to do something wrong. There was a hushed, brown atmosphere inside and a smell of paper. An
old man with yellow-white hair greased to his head was sitting at a table reading the paper with his face very close to the page. She could smell him across the room. He coughed and his chest
rattled.

The pale librarian at the front desk looked at her over half-moon spectacles.

‘Can I help you?’ He looked at her suspiciously, as if she might be about to commit a crime.

‘I . . .’ Whispering, she went on. ‘I wondered if you had any poetry?’

The man, who had chopped brown hair and a pudgy face, made a superior sort of gesture with his neck as if to say,
Well, what do you expect? This is a library!
He led her across the
room, with its long windows, to a shelf in the corner.

‘Poetry,’ he said, snootily. And walked off.

Melly looked along the shelves of worn old spines, trying to find any of the names that she had seen on Mr Alexander’s books. She had memorized them: Keats, Yeats, Robert Lowell, Pablo
Neruda . . . At first she thought the library did not have any of them until she came to the last shelf and found an old blue book.
W. B. Yeats
she could just read on the spine.

The poems made her feel stupid. A lot of them were very long and she did not understand the language or what they were about. She felt sad and disappointed looking through the book. How could
she have thought . . .? But what had she been thinking, really? That Raimundo Alexander was interested in her? That she could be his equal? But he read these books as if they were simple as ABC, or
so it appeared to her. And she could barely understand this one at all.

There were some shorter poems in the book. One that caught her eye was called ‘A Friend’s Illness’. The poem was only a few lines, saying how the friend’s illness had put
a new thought in his mind:

She read the poem over and over again, trying to make sense of it. Did he mean that one person, one soul, was more important than all the world if that person was someone you
loved? Or did it mean something else completely? She put the book back and walked to the hospital. She still felt stupid because she did not really know what the poem meant.

But it was about a sick friend and a sick friend was the thing always at the front of her mind.

She was on duty again in the morning, glowing with happiness not only that Mr Alexander was still there, in the same place, but that he looked up in his quiet way when she came
over to him and his eyes were full of warmth.

‘Ah, I see my favourite nurse is back.’

Melly beamed at him. He
did
like her – even if only as his ‘favourite nurse’. ‘How are you, Mr Alexander?’

‘Doing all right. The cough won’t leave me be, though. They decided to keep me in a few more days.’