Now the War Is Over (9 page)

‘Coming . . .’ She went to the door. Outside was a lady whose age Rachel could not guess. Her tobacco-coloured hair was collar length with a frizzy curl to it, brushed severely away
from a straight right parting and held with a kirby grip. Her weather-beaten face bore not a hint of make-up and she wore a brown utility suit and brown lace-up shoes. Under her left arm were
tucked some papers. Pebbly blue eyes looked intently at Rachel through horn-rimmed spectacles.

‘Yes?’ Rachel held the door close to her. ‘What d’you want?’

‘Good morning, Mrs – er – Booker. I’m here to talk to you about your son.’

‘My – which son?’ Rachel felt a stab of fear. She could see Ricky on his little trike along the yard. Had something happened to Kevin? She pulled the door closer to her.
‘What d’you mean?’

She saw a kindly light in the woman’s eyes. ‘It’s all right. It’s nothing to worry about, Mrs Booker. In fact, I hope I might be able to give you some good news. My name
is Miss Walsh. May I come in for a moment?’

Only a fraction reassured, Rachel relinquished the door and led the stranger into the downstairs room. It didn’t look too bad, she thought, flustered. At least she’d managed to hide
the washing.

‘Ah.’ Miss Walsh immediately spotted Tommy, in his chair by the table. ‘This is who I’ve come to see. Hello, young man.’

Tommy, head slightly to one side, gave a convulsive wobble, his left arm clenched close to his body. He looked up at the lady with wide, wondering eyes. ‘He – llo –’ He
managed to begin a greeting, but could not seem to get any further.

Rachel started to tremble. Although Miss Walsh spoke softly, she was afraid of her, of what power she might have. Was she one of those welfare busybodies? Could they make her give Tommy up,
force her to put him in a home?

‘What is it you want?’ she said in a faint voice. Her legs went weak and she had to pull up a chair before she had even offered the stranger one, and sit down. ‘You’re
not going to take him away?’

‘Oh, my dear,
no
, nothing like that. It’s quite all right. Let me explain.’ Miss Walsh laid her hand on the nearest chair. ‘May I?’

‘Yes. Sorry,’ Rachel said. Despite her fear, she could still feel a sense of trust in this woman with her soothing voice.

Miss Walsh descended on to the chair with a slow grace, resting her papers on her lap.

‘I am a social worker – that’s the best way to describe it. I am working with the welfare officers of an organization which you may have heard of, called the Midland Spastic
Association – no? Well, you wouldn’t be the first, believe me. It’s people like yourself and this young man –’ She looked questioningly across the table.
‘What’s your name, dear – can you tell me?’

‘Tomm – y,’ he said.

‘Very good! Children like Tommy, with cerebral palsy . . .’

Rachel stared at her. ‘Ce-re-bral palsy,’ she repeated slowly. Not once had anyone said this odd name to her before. Not even the doctor. Tommy had always been a
‘spastic’ and a ‘cripple’.
Cerebral palsy
. She tried to make sense of it. ‘Is that –? I mean – are there a lot of them, then?’

‘A lot? Well, I wouldn’t say a lot exactly, but a number, yes. And there is now a special school for children like Tommy. Have you ever been to school, Tommy?’

‘No,’ he replied, wide-eyed. His sweetness melted Rachel inside.

‘I guessed not,’ Miss Walsh said, with a gentle smile.

‘He doesn’t really go anywhere much,’ Rachel admitted. She looked down, tearful again. So much feeling welled up in her – the fierce protectiveness she felt for Tommy,
the fear for him, rage at people’s cruelty and the overwhelming, grinding exhaustion of it all. She felt as if her tears might flood the floor. She took a deep breath and looked up.

‘I used to take him out when he was little – I tried, I really did. But people were so unkind and in the end he didn’t want to go. And some lads – I mean, he had a bad
fright one day . . . So I kept him in and his sister has taught him things and everything. But I never wanted him to go into one of those . . .’ She couldn’t say those words in front of
Tommy. Home for Cripples. The sort of place her own mother, among others, had suggested she put Tommy and
just get on with your own life
. ‘You know, those places . . .’

Miss Walsh nodded, leaning forward slightly, fingers of one hand to her lips, her back very straight. She was listening carefully. Rachel felt that no one had ever listened to her quite like
this before.

‘I just couldn’t,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t know what else to do . . .’ Her tears were coming now, all the years of pent-up sorrow and desperation leaking out.
‘My husband doesn’t find it easy . . . He doesn’t like . . .’ She glanced at Tommy. She mustn’t say any more, much as she longed to pour her heart out. Miss Walsh
nodded slightly, looking at Tommy, as if she understood the problem. Desperately Rachel added, ‘I did my best. I never knew anyone else and I didn’t know what to do.’

‘It’s all right, dear,’ Miss Walsh said. She looked at some notes she was holding in her lap. ‘We were notified by one of the health visitors from this area. Do you have
a health visitor now? When did you last see her?’

Rachel wiped her eyes. ‘Oh – sometime after I had Ricky, my youngest. She still comes now and then.’ She gave a watery smile. Fishing in the waistband of her apron she found a
hanky and wiped her nose.

‘Ah –’ Miss Walsh’s eyes searched the notes. ‘It was a Miss Russell.’

‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘I don’t know her.’ Then the memory dawned on her. ‘Oh – no, I do! Yes, she’s been one or twice.’ The woman had been
especially kind to Tommy, she remembered.

Miss Walsh smiled. ‘Well, she was the one who mentioned you. I’m glad we’ve found you. We’ve been looking for children like Tommy, you see. Now, let me tell you . .
.’

She explained that a few years earlier, two men of the city, both with wealth and influence, had each, in their own families, had a child with cerebral palsy.

‘Like your son,’ she added. ‘It usually means that when the baby was born there was some damage to the brain, sometimes through lack of oxygen.’

She took in Rachel’s bewildered expression.

‘We don’t know the cause in every case, dear. Now – one of the men was Mr Paul Cadbury, a member of the Cadbury’s chocolate family, of course. Obviously he and his friend
wanted to do the best they could for their children, but they soon saw how hard it is – even if you have money. They realized that there was nowhere for their children to go. So they started
to wonder about other children in the same position. And they set up a school especially for them. It’s called Carlson House and it’s in Harborne. I don’t suppose you’ve
heard of it?’

‘No,’ Rachel whispered, shaking her head.

‘What I’d like to do is have a look at Tommy. It appears very likely that we could take him to Carlson House to be assessed and – if they think it’s right for him –
well, he could go to school. How old are you now, Tommy?’

‘E – lev – en,’ he managed to say.

‘Only just eleven,’ Rachel added. She was reeling. A special school, for boys like Tommy! ‘But – Harborne . . .’ Despair dampened her hopes. ‘That’s
right the other side of Birmingham. I mean – how could I? I’d have to get him on the bus, and then—’

Miss Walsh raised a hand to stop her. ‘There is transport provided. The school is a charitable foundation, you see, Mrs Booker. It wants to provide for children like Tommy. We are trying
to trace children across the city who would benefit from it. So many of them are not getting any education at all and with a little help, a lot of them are capable of more than you might
think.’

‘I . . .’ Rachel was still groping for words. ‘I don’t know what to say. I mean, I know Tommy’s, you know, all there. He can read a bit and he can talk. I do a bit
with him but it’s his sister Melly – she’s done ever such a lot. She likes teaching him, you see.’

Miss Walsh gave a gentle smile. ‘How old is Melly?’

‘Melanie’s her real name. She’s thirteen.’

‘Well, what a wonderful daughter you have,’ Miss Walsh said. ‘It’s not often you find a girl with as much patience and perseverance as that.’

‘Yes,’ Rachel said, surprised. She blushed with pleasure. ‘She’s a good girl.’

‘She certainly is. So, Tommy.’ Miss Walsh turned and faced him. Rachel could see in his eyes all the hope and uncertainty of his feelings after what he had heard. He was wavering and
wobbling more than usual and she knew this was because he was in an emotional state. ‘What do you think, dear? Would you like to go to school like the other boys and girls?’

‘Yes,’ Tommy said. He looked at Rachel and then at Miss Walsh. ‘I – want to – go. If they’re – not – un-k-k . . .’ He stumbled over the
word, but at last brought out, ‘Unkind.’

Miss Walsh seemed moved by this.

‘No, my dear,’ she said. ‘They are not there to be unkind, I can assure you. They are there to help.’ She got up. ‘May I take a look at you, please,
Tommy?’

She spent a few minutes with him, feeling his arms, bending and straightening them, feeling how they responded. She asked him to stand, as Rachel had told her that he could, that for years he
had slept in leg splints. He looked like a bent little man in his baggy grey trousers.

‘I know – my – letters,’ Tommy told her eagerly, once he was back in his chair.

Miss Walsh smiled down at him. ‘Shall we take you over to Carlson House and see what can be done?’

‘You really mean it?’ Rachel still could not stop her tears as her boy’s face lit up. ‘There’s really somewhere for my Tommy?’

‘Yes, my dear. I’m glad to say there is. You don’t need to be on your own any longer.’

At this Rachel began to sob. She put her head in her hands and wept, shaking her head.

‘All these years,’ she said at last, when she could get the words out. ‘I’ve never thought he would have anything. There was nobody who wanted to know about him so in the
end I kept him away from everyone. I didn’t want him to be with people who were nasty to him. I never thought there’d be something like this . . .’

‘If he is admitted to Carlson House,’ Miss Walsh said, ‘we also ask the mothers to become involved for a part of the time, in helping the children – for a day every week
or two if you can. And don’t despair if they don’t take him into the school straight away. We are also trying to make sure that welfare officers will come to your home and you can ask
their advice about anything related to Tommy. You need never be so alone again, Mrs Booker. And I’d say –’ she gave Rachel’s hand a squeeze as she got up – ‘that
this young man would fit into the school very well and get a lot of benefit from it. He’s a bright little fellow.’ She gave Tommy another kindly look. ‘We’ll be in touch,
very soon.’

‘Oh – thank you. Thank you!’ Rachel said as the woman left. She realized, as Miss Walsh’s footsteps receded along the entry, that not only had she not offered her a cup
of tea, but that this extraordinary woman had, in just a few minutes, blown open the windows of her life to let in light.

As soon as she walked in from school, Melly knew something had changed. She picked it up before anyone said a word, a feeling of unease spreading through her.

Mom was by the gas stove, stirring baked beans. Her dark hair curled round her collar at the back.

‘School all right?’ she said over her shoulder to Kevin.

Kevin grunted.

‘Spit it out.’ Rachel turned. ‘Did you get the cane again?’

Kev was at the table, filling his face with bread and Stork and twitching about as usual. He was obviously reluctant to say anything. Rachel stared him out.

‘’Er gave me a wap with a ruler,’ he admitted, indistinctly through a mouthful. His fine, dark brows were frowning slightly but he did not seem very bothered.

‘Wap,’ Ricky echoed, with a gurgle of laughter.

‘What for?’ Rachel said.

‘Not sitting still.’

‘Hah – well, that hardly makes a change,’ she laughed. There was something different in her laughter and Melly, helping herself to a piece of bread, could feel it. Something
new, but she couldn’t catch what. Taking a bite, she turned to find Mom watching her. She had moved over and was half leaning on the back of a chair.

‘All right, Melly?’

‘Umm,’ she said, chewing.

Rachel’s eyes seemed to search her face.

‘You’re a good kid. You know that, don’t you?’

Melly looked up at her. Mom said that from time to time, absent-mindedly, when she wanted her to do something for her.
Take Tommy to the lavvy, will you? There’s a good kid.
This
time she was looking intently at her.

‘All you’ve done with Tommy. Teaching him and everything. You’ve been ever so patient. Not many kids your age would’ve done it.’

Melly smiled, pleased yet confused. Mom was usually on at her for something. Why was she being nice suddenly? She looked at Tommy. He seemed different too, excited, a little grin coming and
going, but het up, as if he might explode.

Mom moved back to the stove. ‘When your dad and auntie get back, Tommy and I’ve got something to tell you.’

Everyone was looking at Tommy. He squirmed and half smiled and didn’t know where to look.

‘So who was this woman?’ Danny asked.

Melly thought he sounded hostile, as if to say, how dare she come round here when no one asked her to and change things? Dad didn’t like things changing. In that moment Melly realized that
she didn’t like it either. Tommy going across town every
day
? How could this be?

‘I told you,’ Rachel said. ‘She was from the welfare. From this place in Harborne where they want him to go to school.’

‘I’ve never heard of any such place,’ Gladys said. She was sitting up very straight, tight-lipped and suspicious.

‘I’m to take him to be assessed,’ Rachel said. She sounded proud, saying the word
assessed,
and defiant, as if to say, don’t you dare try and stop me. To Gladys
she added, ‘It’s been going a few years, this school, the woman said – Miss Walsh her name was. Since soon after the war anyway.’ She told them about the man from
Cadbury’s and his child.