Orphan of Angel Street (23 page)

Elsie was enormously protective of Tom. She couldn’t bear to feel people pitying either him or herself.

‘’E’s awright – ’e’ll get better. The doctors said it’d take a bit of time after what ’e’s been through.’ She toiled day after day to keep him clean as a whistle, fed him, talked to him endlessly.

But to Mercy she complained. No one was doing enough.

‘Alf’s out all the time, and Jack. I’m left to do it all. And Josephine hardly ever comes over now. It ain’t right, keeping a littl’un from seeing his nan. It ain’t fair. She ought to come.’

‘She’s got ’er hands full,’ Mercy tried to reason with her. ‘What with the pub and that flat and little Janey to look after . . .’

Josephine had come sometimes when Tom first arrived home. She’d turned to Mercy on more than one occasion with a look of desperation in her eyes when Elsie wasn’t looking. One day, when Elsie had popped outside she said, ‘I can’t stand seeing ’im like this.’ Looking across at Tom her eyes filled with tears. ‘Look at ’im – ’e’s just not ’ere, is ’e? Where’s ’e gone? It ain’t right, none of it. Would’ve been better to my mind if ’e’d . . .’ She bit her lip, suddenly busying herself picking Janey up and wiping her hands. ‘I shouldn’t talk like that, I know. Mom’d ’ave a fit . . .’

Her words sent a great wave of relief through Mercy. Josephine was the only one who’d expressed what she herself was thinking. This wasn’t hopeful, all this. Tom wasn’t a hero. It was a dreadful, heartbreaking hell seeing him in this state day after day, this man whom she’d loved, whose hand she had wanted to hold into the future.

Josephine appeared on rare occasions now, but ever since then Mercy had felt some release. She could begin to let go of Tom, to acknowledge that he really was lost to her. She could visit and try to support Elsie without feeling she had to catch hold of a dream and hang on, for her dream had already dissolved. The man she loved was dead.

It was a long, sad winter. The fighting on the Western Front was held up. No moves could be made before spring, and morale among the troops was low. The casualties at Ypres had been vast and there was a shortage of troops. Johnny Pepper had spent much of the winter up on the freezing
altipiani
, the ‘high plains’ between Italy and Austria, among the divisions sent to reinforce the Italians. As the snow began to melt, however, and spring came, they were being despatched back to the Western Front. First though, Johnny was sent home on leave.

He arrived in Birmingham at the end of March. A tall, stringy-looking figure now, his shorn hair merely a red haze round the edge of his cap, he strode back into Angel Street, feeling he was in a dream. This was home, but now it seemed so strange, so alien. It was as if the army, for all the degradation and horror it entailed, had become his true home, the only true way of life.

Elsie would never forget her son’s face as he walked into the house that day and saw his twin. Johnny’s eyes, already red from lack of sleep, fastened on Tom’s face, and Elsie saw burning in them horror, pain and disgust. That sight of hope dying in Johnny’s face broke her heart more than she had allowed Tom’s condition to do so far.

‘Tom?’ Johnny swung his kitbag to the floor and went to him. Elsie watched, pulling her old cardigan tight round her.

‘Tom – it’s me, Johnny. ‘’Ow are yer, mate?’

Tom was in his usual position, staring intently upwards as if the flaking ceiling was a puzzle which held all the secrets of the universe. When Johnny spoke to him he moved his head a little.

‘Tom!’ Johnny took him by the shoulders and started to shake him violently. ‘Say summat – speak to me, for God’s sake. Stop playing about!’

‘Johnny, stop it – you’ll hurt ’im!’ Elsie tried to pull him off. ‘’E can ’ear yer – I’m sure ’e can. But ’e can’t say anything to you – not yet.’

‘Not yet!’ Johnny stepped back, eyes stretched in horror. He slammed his fist on the table with such force that one of the cups flew off and smashed on the floor. ‘’E’s been home nigh on six month! You wrote and said ’e was doing all right. D’you mean ’e’s been like this all the time?’

‘Oh, ’e was much worse to begin with—’

‘They said to me that day—’ Johnny was shouting, completely distraught. ‘They said ’e’d be awright – that’s what they said. And all this time I thought, well whatever else, Tom’s awright . . .’

‘But ’e is—’

‘You call that awright? ’E’s nowt but a vegetable!’

He strode out of the house again leaving the door swinging. He didn’t come back until evening.

‘Hello Johnny,’ Mercy said softly.

Johnny looked up from his tea and saw her in the doorway. She was dressed in her work clothes, thinner, more grown up. But God she was lovely, he thought. Those little white teeth, the deep, inscrutable eyes.

‘Mercy—’ He put his fork down, wanted to say more but couldn’t think of anything. In that moment though, for the first time, he really felt he’d arrived home. She was still Mercy, while otherwise at home nothing else was the same. His mom and dad had turned into old people, and in this short time he’d had to take in Tom’s condition, Cathleen’s death and the extent of the grief they still all shared for Frank . . . No one and nothing was as it had been. But Mercy . . . Johnny watched as she took off her coat, the smooth way she moved. His mind was skipping on fast. She wasn’t Tom’s any more – she couldn’t be, could she? So why shouldn’t he have her?

Mercy said hello to Tom, then sat down at the table between Johnny and Alf.

‘You’ve seen ’im, then?’ she said.

‘Yeah.’ He was looking down at his plate.

‘So how are you?’

He looked at her out of the sides of his eyes. ‘Awright.’ She was so close to him, and he found himself sizing up her breasts as if she were a Belgian whore.

‘Good to be home, eh?’

‘Yeah. I s’pose.’ He didn’t know what to say to her, could only think of the excitement rising in him, shaming him. But he wanted her. Sex was his customary way of briefly finding warmth and humanity. He wanted Mercy under him, the hot clutch of her round him so he could come in her and forget.

‘Johnny—’ Mercy was disturbed by his manner, his short, savage answers to her questions. ‘It’s – it’s been very hard with Tom. We all hoped he was going to get better than this. They operated on his head and that, but – well, it must be a shock to you.’

‘I’ve seen worse.’

‘I dare say.’ Mercy found she was furious. ‘But this is your brother. He’s had a bullet in his head and it’s done a lot of damage – he was really badly injured—’

‘I know ’e was bloody badly injured!’ Johnny stood up, yelling with all his force so that Tom made a whimpering noise and Alf protested, ‘Eh, son, son—’

‘I know what happened to ’im, I was there, wasn’ I? It was me brought ’im up out of the mud, and now I wish I’d fucking well left ’im there!’

Mercy went out with Johnny the next evening. He came round and asked and she didn’t feel she could refuse.

‘Just give me a tick to get changed,’ she told him.

‘Least he seems more cheerful than yesterday,’ she said to Mabel and Susan. ‘’E was ever so funny with me last night. Must’ve been the shock.’

‘They’ve all had more than their fair share, that’s for sure.’ Mabel was clattering plates in the scullery. ‘He’s come home to a basinful.’

It was a mild evening, and not yet dark. Johnny waited out in the yard. As Mercy came out he eyed her up, suddenly afraid. She was dressed in matching brown: a calf-length skirt, a white blouse with a little tie at the neck over which her coat was hanging open, button up boots and a little felt hat with a feather in it.

‘Posh nowadays, aren’t yer?’ he said, unable to keep the aggression from his voice.

‘Only because of Dorothy. She gives me hand-me-downs.’

She knew his eyes were on her and felt as if her skin was tingling. It was somehow a threatening feeling.

‘Where d’you want to go then? Pictures or summat?’

They sat in the picture house together. Mercy had always loved it before, the excitement of going out, a gripping picture to take your mind off things. But now it only reminded her agonizingly of Tom. She kept glancing sideways at Johnny, his profile in the flickering light from the screen. She could not have mistaken the two of them. Johnny’s face was thinner, longer, the nose more snub.

Seeing her looking at him, Johnny suddenly reached over and caught hold of her hand. She sat stiffly, keeping her hand in his, their palms going sticky. Once he let go and smoothed his hand along her thigh and she froze. He took her hand again. At the end of the picture he let go. She wiped her palm on her skirt, and knew he had seen her doing it.

It was dark outside. Both of them were subdued, each feeling less and less at ease. Mercy wanted to talk to him, ask him things, but what was there to say?

Johnny was used to women who spoke little English. There were lots of hand signals, giggles from them as he clowned it, he could touch them, each of them knowing how it would end up. But here he felt expected just to walk and talk in the darkness. And Mercy was so grown up now, so pure and beautiful, so well dressed. He felt at sea, and then angry and frustrated.

‘So what d’yer wanna do now then?’ he asked in a harsh voice.

Mercy was just as much at a loss. With Tom she could walk anywhere, close and comfortable, holding hands, not needing anything outside themselves for entertainment. But Johnny seemed a complete stranger to her now, and one who was smouldering and unpredictable.

‘Shall we just go home?’

Each of them looked at the other, desolate for a moment, then in an offhand voice, yet burning with fury inside, Johnny said, ‘Oh awright then, if that’s all yer want.’

He was used to being courted, women eager for him, his cheeky good looks, the meagre pay he gave them which, close to the front line, they needed to fill their bellies. But now this superior little bitch wanted to get away from him as fast as she could. He felt deeply, terrifyingly lonely.

They were walking quite briskly now, towards the bottom of Bradford Street. There was silence until Mercy could bear it no longer.

‘Johnny—’

‘What?’ His tone was savage again.

‘Was it really you – saved Tom’s life?’

‘Yes.’

There was a long silence.

‘Will yer tell me ’ow it ’appened?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Because yer don’t want to know.’ He was walking so fast she could barely keep up. ‘None of you want to know.’

‘I do.’

Even if he had wanted to he couldn’t have described Ypres for her. And why should she know, just by hearing of it? Why should she have it so cheap?

‘I want to know what happened to ’im, Johnny.’

‘’E got shot in the head. There’s nowt else to say about it.’

She was pleading, desperate to break through his cruel harshness. ‘I need some way to feel close to ’im.’

I’ll show you, he thought. I’ll show you how to feel close to Tom.

‘Come ’ere.’ He took her hand, pulling her round the corner into Rea Street, walking between steelworks and dark warehouses.

‘Where’re we going?’

Johnny turned on her, filled again with angry desire. He shoved her up against the warehouse wall.

‘Johnny for God’s sake—’ Her voice was high and frightened. But his need was driving him too strongly to hear her, his body taut. He didn’t speak. His hands were in her clothes, pulling, lifting, forcing. Mercy felt the air cold on her legs as he drew her skirt up and she clutched uselessly at it trying to keep it down.

‘What’re you doing? Don’t – oh Johnny, don’t!’

She could just see his eyes in the darkness and they were looking, but not seeing her. She was present but somehow cancelled out and this silenced her. Her head was grinding against the wall. Johnny was pushing his body against hers, his breaths sharp and urgent, hands tearing at her bloomers and she fought him, shouting, ‘No, Johnny – no!’

Frustrated he pulled at her, unable to reach, to get in. This was no good. Why didn’t the silly cow get in the right position?

‘Move!’ he ordered her.

‘What d’you mean? Oh my God, Johnny, what’re you doing to me?’ She didn’t know what he meant, what he wanted.

When she felt him naked, thrusting against her, panic overcame her. What was this . . .? Oh my God, no . . .

He was more than ready, felt himself begin to come, yet thwarted and he clutched her tight, groaning in surrender.

‘Johnny – stop it – you’re horrible!’ She shoved him away from her with every fibre of herself, running, sobbing, towards Bradford Street.

‘Bitch!’ His cry came after her, distraught. ‘Horrible, am I? You don’t know nothing, yer stuck up little bitch! . . .’ The sound of her running footsteps faded along the street. ‘Don’t go . . . Mercy . . . don’t leave me!’

When they heard that Johnny had been invalided home, Elsie took the news very quietly, as if she had no spark of hope left in her. The dead or the living dead – what other fates lay in store for her young ones?

Mercy’s feelings were very mixed. Johnny had gone back to the Front in March without saying goodbye and with no apology for what had happened that night. She had kept out of his way for the rest of that week, only seeing him with the others, and then they’d barely spoken to each other or exchanged a glance. None of them had heard from him since he’d gone back. Mercy didn’t exactly blame him. He’d been like a complete stranger to her, one whose presence would have been disquieting had he really been a stranger, but as an old childhood friend, almost a brother, she had found him frightening and sad.

She felt weighed down by exhaustion and grief. Tom sat there day after day. There seemed to be no future to look to, only the ashes left of her hopes. Her old childhood feelings of uncertainty, of not seeming to fit or belong anywhere, had come back very strongly now Tom had been taken from her. She’d grown into a woman, but the roots of her being, who she really was, were hidden from her. Sometimes she looked at Mabel and Susan and thought, I don’t know who these people are, not really. I don’t belong to them, or have blood ties with them. I just ended up here somehow.