Orphans of the Storm (32 page)
He walked up the ward, which was full of women all staring at him, and almost walked past Debbie’s bed, for the difference between the dirty child who had emerged from the shelter and the young woman in the clean hospital nightgown, leaning against her pillows, was astonishing. Debbie had come out of the shelter literally caked with dust and dirt; tears had made clean tracks down her filthy cheeks, her eyes had been red with rubbing and her dress had been dark with dirt. The ribbon which Dicky had mentioned had been long gone, and her hair had hung about her face in tangled witch locks. Now, Pete could see her hair was thick and glossy, the colour of a ripe chestnut. Her skin was pale and clear, though there was an enormous bruise on her forehead and a scratch above one cheek. Her large eyes were dark blue, though deeply shadowed. Pete thought that a woman would say the small, pointy-chinned face held the promise of beauty to come, but he simply considered her looks appealing. He sat down on the seat beside the bed and smiled at her. ‘You look a good deal better than you did when I last saw you,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t realised you were quite such a young lady . . . you looked about twelve when you appeared out of the rubble.’
‘Oh, it
is
you,’ Debbie said. She sounded relieved, and Pete realised that she had not been the only one covered in filth and dust when they had met earlier. Once he had settled her in the hospital, in charge of people who knew best how to take care of her, he had collected his kitbag and found himself a lodging house. It was quite a decent place and the landlady, a motherly soul, had run him a hot bath and had taken his filthy clothing, assuring him that it would be clean and decent in next to no time.
is
you,’ Debbie said. She sounded relieved, and Pete realised that she had not been the only one covered in filth and dust when they had met earlier. Once he had settled her in the hospital, in charge of people who knew best how to take care of her, he had collected his kitbag and found himself a lodging house. It was quite a decent place and the landlady, a motherly soul, had run him a hot bath and had taken his filthy clothing, assuring him that it would be clean and decent in next to no time.
He opened his mouth to explain this to Debbie but had no opportunity to do so. She began to bombard him with questions: had he seen the baby? They had told her Baby was in a special baby unit but had refused to let her visit. Where was Dusty? Was he well? Did Pete realise the dog had saved their lives, hers and Baby’s? Where was Pete himself staying? If he wanted a bed, he could go to Wykeham Street and use Debbie’s own small room; they had a lodger whom she called Uncle Max, but though she did not like him he was not a bad man and would give any friend of the Ryans a decent enough welcome.
Pete tried to answer the questions patiently. He had not visited the baby yet, but would do so when he left Debbie. Dusty was still in the charge of the friendly hospital porter and had been given a large bowl of scraps which he had devoured with great enthusiasm. His hurts had been disinfected, stitched and bandaged, and the doctor who had done the work had assured Pete that Dusty would be as good as new in a couple of days. He was quite a hero, for Pete had told everyone how the dog had fought his way out of the shelter to bring help to his mistress and her baby.
‘Good, good,’ Debbie said. ‘But you’ve not told me whether you’re sleeping in Wykeham Street. Have you met Uncle Max? And . . . and . . .’ her voice dropped, almost to a mumble, ‘have you found Gwen?’
Pete nodded miserably. ‘Yes. She . . . she was . . .’
Debbie gave Pete a quick glance and what she read in his eyes must have been the news she was dreading to hear, for she put out her hand and laid it over his own for a moment. And then she said, ‘You needn’t tell me about Gwen because I know. I guess I must always have known because she was in the shelter with us and when I first came to myself and started shouting her name there was no answer. She’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘I’m afraid so, my dear,’ Pete said quietly. ‘I’ll expect you’ll hear soon enough that you and the baby and the dog were the only survivors. You were very, very lucky to be right at the far end of the shelter when the bomb fell. It saved your lives.’
Debbie nodded. ‘I was changing Baby’s nappy,’ she told him. ‘Gwen offered to do it but I said it was okay, I’d manage, so in a way it’s my fault that she died. You see, one of us had to go to the marshal for some more milk mixture, and I thought – I thought . . .’ Her voice broke and she fished out her handkerchief to blow her nose, then spoke resolutely. ‘I thought changing the nappy was dirty work so it was only fair that I should do it. I wish I’d let Gwen come with me . . . but it’s too late for wishing, isn’t it?’
‘You’re right there. Wishing won’t bring anyone back,’ Pete said. He was choked with pity but knew that nothing he could say or do could make things better, and he still had to tell her that the house in Wykeham Street no longer existed. He took her hand, rubbing his thumb gently across the small knuckles, longing passionately to be able to give her good news instead of having to see her facing up to losing everything. Apart from the clothing she had worn in the shelter, the baby and the dog, she now had nothing. But she was looking at him enquiringly. ‘Have you been to Wykeham Street? Did you find Uncle Max at home?’
Pete cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid your home was bombed last night; there’s really nothing left of it,’ he said gently. ‘But I saw a warden who said your Uncle Max had been fire-watching and was unharmed. I’m sure he’ll see that you and your baby, and good old Dusty of course, all find somewhere else to live.’
For the first time, Debbie looked angry. ‘I wouldn’t live with Uncle Max if he were the last man on earth,’ she said vehemently. ‘He’s horrible, really horrible. The sort of man who comes into your room without knocking and puts his beastly arm round you when he thinks your mam isn’t looking, and . . .’ Her voice faltered and stopped, and Pete saw that big tears were rolling down her cheeks and it occurred to him that the lodger might have fathered the child. Or was it possible that Jess was the baby’s mother and Debbie had been looking after her little sister? The idea sent a wave of hope through him, for he had been horrified to think that a girl of her age had given birth to a baby; in his eyes she was still a child herself. He took a deep breath. ‘That baby – Baby, didn’t you say? – is she – is she your sister?’
Debbie had been staring at him, letting the tears fall unchecked, but now her eyes shifted uneasily, and she dabbed at them with the corner of the sheet. There was a longish pause before she said, still mopping her eyes, ‘No, she’s not my sister. She’s mine, and nobody’s going to take her away from me.’
‘What about her father?’ Pete asked. ‘If you like him . . .’
Once again, Debbie cut across his stammered words. ‘I don’t care about her father,’ she said fiercely. ‘Me and Baby and Dusty will manage all right . . . oh, if only Mam was alive, she’d tell me what to do.’
Pete felt completely at a loss. If it had not been for the baby, he would have said, positively, that Debbie was innocent of the sort of knowledge which a woman with a child must have. As it was, he was sure that she must have been seduced, probably against her will, which was rape. He had let go her hand while she mopped her eyes, but now he took it again, feeling protectiveness and affection for this little creature who was so alone rise up in him. He longed to ask questions about the baby, and its father, to discover the truth, but knew this was not the moment, that perhaps the moment would never come. Instead, he held her hand within both his own and changed the subject. ‘You asked me if I’d got somewhere to stay. Well, I have. It’s a quiet house in Huskisson Street. I shall be able to keep my eye on you, make sure you’ve a roof over your head, before I return to my air force station.’ He hesitated. ‘You said your friends Gwen lived in Daisy Street and I took a look before coming in to visit you. There’s a lot of dust and rubble about, but the houses are undamaged. Couldn’t you stay there until . . . well, until something else turns up?’ he finished lamely.
To his dismay, tears welled up once more in Debbie’s eyes, but she fished under her pillow, withdrew a handkerchief and blew her nose resoundingly for the second time, furtively mopping up the tears as she did so. She waited a moment, and to Pete the silence seemed to stretch unbearably, but when she spoke her voice was steady. ‘I don’t know. You see, Mrs Soames only remained in Liverpool because G-Gwen works – worked, I mean – with me in the factory at Long Lane, assembling radio parts. Her mam said it weren’t fair, going off to be safe in the country leaving Gwenny to soldier on alone. But things have changed. I reckon she’ll move away now, stay with her other kids, and there won’t be no shortage of folk wanting to take over the rent in Daisy Street because thousands of homes have been destroyed.’
‘Oh,’ Pete said, rather inadequately. ‘If it weren’t for the baby, I dare say you could move in with a few other girls. Or how about going to that place – Betws something or other – where the Soameses are staying?’
‘I can’t; I’m doing important work,’ Debbie said briefly. Then she shot Pete a suspicious look. ‘How did you know that the Soameses had gone to Betws-y-Coed? I never told you, I know I didn’t.’
‘I met a feller called Dicky at the shelter. Do you remember him? He gave you and – he gave you a lift to . . . Oh, Debbie, he was the person who identified your friend.’
Debbie’s eyes filled with tears once more, but she blinked them away and made vigorous use of her handkerchief. ‘He and Gwen were going to go steady; he asked her to go dancin’ . . . oh, poor Dicky!’
As soon as he was able, Pete took hold of her hand once more. He had been meaning to ask her how she had managed a factory job whilst taking care of the baby, but guessed that she and her mother had both worked shifts and had managed to take turns attending to the child. Instead, he said: ‘I don’t see that your job at the factory can continue, with the way things are. I think you must go into the country where you and the baby – and Dusty of course – will be safe.’
Debbie shook her head. ‘Can’t; no money,’ she said briefly. ‘I get a really good wage at the factory, more than my mam did for working all the hours God sends in the hospital, and I don’t mean to give that up. I might have to let Baby go to a childminder, but they won’t charge much for a baby and at least we’ll be self-supporting. Besides, I – I don’t want to have time to think about all the dreadful things that have happened, which is all I would do if I left the ’Pool. Working in the factory, you have to keep your mind on your job.’
Pete opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Quite soon he would have to leave, since he had no desire to be posted AWOL and perhaps face a court martial for desertion. He would do his best to see Jess’s daughter settled, but he could do little else. However, it occurred to him that his landlady would probably give Debbie, the baby and the dog his room when he moved out of it, provided of course that he paid the rent. So he got to his feet and smiled down at the small figure in the bed. ‘Look, I’ve an idea. The sister told me you can leave hospital tomorrow, and to tell you the truth I ought to go back to Norfolk then as well. My landlady in Huskisson Street is a nice woman and I’m sure she’ll let you take over my room, at least while you search for something more permanent. How would that suit you?’
Debbie smiled up at him. ‘It would be a great help,’ she admitted. ‘But oh, do you have to go? I – I feel so dreadfully alone!’
Pete returned to the bed to give her hand another comforting squeeze. ‘I’ll give the station a ring this evening, see if they can extend my leave for another day or two,’ he promised. ‘And now just you get a good night’s sleep. Sister told me to come back about ten in the morning, when she thinks that you and the baby will be allowed to leave. I’m going to pick Dusty up from the porter and I just hope he’ll settle down quietly at Mrs Roberts’s place – she’s my landlady – because if he doesn’t we really will have a problem.’
Debbie and Baby were dressed and waiting for him by the time Pete arrived at the hospital next morning. The authorities had provided Debbie with a brown frock which was rather too big for her, and a navy blue jacket, though she was still wearing her own shoes. They had also given her a towel and a toothbrush, though they had been unable to provide either toothpaste, soap, or a temporary ration card, a lack which would be made good at a nearby centre next day. Debbie had been delighted with the clothes that the hospital had provided for Baby, who now wore a clean pink dress and a neat little coat, and when the baby saw Pete she gave a delightful gurgle and held her arms out to him. Pete smiled and Debbie thought that he was flattered. ‘She remembers me!’ he exclaimed. ‘Well, I never would have thought it!’
Debbie laughed at Pete’s gratified expression. ‘She does that to everyone,’ she said merrily. ‘She’s ever such a friendly little soul, aren’t you, Baby? They got really fond of her in the baby unit, which is why they found her such pretty clothes. Sister said babies’ memories are very short and she probably won’t remember the raid at all, which is a good thing, isn’t it?’
‘A very good thing,’ Pete agreed. ‘You both look very much better this morning, and though your frock is nowhere near as fine as Baby’s, you look very neat; I like the plait. Let’s go and collect Dusty, and then I’ll take you to Huskisson Street.’
Debbie did feel very much better this morning and knew she looked it for she had examined her reflection as she had washed in the hospital ablutions. Her eyes were still shadowed and her cheeks were pale, but one of the nurses had plaited her hair into a thick braid, which fell across one shoulder. Debbie knew it probably made her look younger, but it was tidy and Pete clearly approved. She thought, rather ruefully, that it was already important to her that Pete should approve; after all, there was no one else now who mattered, no one else who cared whether she looked pretty or plain, happy or miserable. Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought but she blinked them away. Self-pity was a useless emotion and one in which she did not mean to indulge. Resolutely, she tilted her chin and tucked her free hand into Pete’s arm. ‘Lead on,’ she said. ‘Does that mean your landlady has agreed to let us stay with her for a bit? Oh, and I have to go back to Wykeham Street. There’s something I have to do there.’
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