Orphans of the Storm (38 page)

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Authors: Katie Flynn

Tags: #Historical

BOOK: Orphans of the Storm
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Then had come the incident when Biddy, unable to find a responsible adult to look after her daughter, had engaged a couple of twelve-year-olds to babysit. Debbie had returned from her late shift to find Chloe, red-faced and screaming, tied to one of the kitchen chairs whilst the two ‘babysitters’ clumped round the house in the residents’ best dresses and high-heeled shoes, completely ignoring the little girl. When Debbie began to tell them off, however, it soon became apparent that it was not only clothing and shoes that had been ‘borrowed’. Both girls had helped themselves to the bottled beer they had discovered in Biddy’s wardrobe, and were exceedingly drunk.
Biddy had been as horrified as Debbie, but it had not prevented her from leaving Chloe again with some very unsuitable sitters, and it was this, more than anything, that had led to a coolness between the two girls. Debbie adored the child and could not bear to see her being treated so casually, and Biddy, who to be fair also adored Chloe, could not see that such treatment was not perfectly normal and acceptable. Debbie supposed that the difference in their outlooks was due to their very different upbringings, but, even so, found it hard to accept.
Now, however, sensing the challenge in Biddy’s tone, she followed her into the kitchen and said placatingly: ‘Yes, of course. Only didn’t you say Paddy was going to take you dancing tonight? I did think I’d like to see the film at the Forum since I’m on earlies this week, but if he is I can always put off my cinema trip until some time when you can stay with Chloe.’
‘Oh, that would be just grand, so it would,’ Biddy said eagerly. ‘I was going to ask Mrs Rushton if she’d give an eye to Chloe until one or other of the girls gets back, but if you could go to the cinema another night, it ’ud be even better.’
Debbie gave an inward sigh; she had looked forward to having a night out and would have to tell her friend Millie that the cinema trip was off, for now at any rate. Fortunately, Millie meant to call for her so she would not have to leave the house in order to change her plans, but she guessed the other girl would not be best pleased. After all, this was by no means the first time that Debbie had had to cancel a date, and though Millie understood the situation she was apt to remark, waspishly, that it was high time Biddy stopped being so flighty and settled down to being a mam.
‘Heavens, is that the time?’ Biddy said suddenly, glancing at the clock on the mantel. Dusty, who had been asleep, curled up on the cool linoleum in the hallway, leapt to his feet and barked, then realised that it was only Biddy and sank down again, looking embarrassed. ‘I’d best go and start putting on me glad rags, ’cos Paddy said he’d be here at eight o’clock and he hates being kept waiting.’ She smiled beguilingly at Debbie. ‘Be a darlin’ an’ put the kettle on. Paddy won’t mind waiting five minutes if you give him a cup of tea and one of them nice scones Mrs Batley made earlier. Oh, how I bless that woman! If it weren’t for her I dunno how we’d go on.’
‘Very true; she’s worth her weight in gold . . .’ Debbie began, but found herself speaking to the dog; Biddy had disappeared, though the sound of her feet clattering up the stairs could still be heard. The wretched girl made no concession to the fact that Chloe was asleep up there, but that was Biddy all over. If she woke the child she’d be full of remorse, would pluck her from her blankets and give her a loving cuddle, and then go happily off with Paddy, leaving someone else to persuade Chloe that it was not yet morning and that she should go back to sleep.
Sighing, Debbie lit the gas under the kettle and got out the tin in which Mrs Batley’s scones reposed. The older woman kept the house in excellent order, did all the marketing and cooking, and was always on hand from six in the morning until around five o’clock in the evening. After that, however, she went off to her evening job, which meant that she could never babysit. Debbie thought this was quite a good thing because the older woman worked quite hard enough without adding childminding to her other duties. And fond though she was of Biddy, Debbie knew that the Irish girl would take advantage of anyone soft enough to offer help.
By the time Biddy clattered downstairs, clad in someone else’s best dance dress and Debbie’s black high-heeled pumps, Paddy, a young seaman home for a week’s leave, had drunk two cups of tea and eaten as much of a scone as Dusty allowed him, for the dog sat close, eyes bright with hope and mouth watering, until Paddy had given him a share. Having thanked Debbie politely for her hospitality he whisked Biddy out just as Millie arrived at the door. Thankfully, Millie was philosophical about the change of plan, but refused Debbie’s invitation to spend the evening at No. 4 and to go to the cinema the following night instead. ‘Me cousin Ted is home on a forty-eight, so seeing as Biddy’s upset all our plans once again, I’ll go round to Aunt Ethel’s and have a chat wi’ Ted,’ she said, rather reproachfully. ‘Honest to God, Debbie, it’s no wonder to me that you don’t have a feller if you’d treat him the way you treat your other friends. Why can’t you tell Biddy to look after her own brat? Or she could pay some really respectable woman to come in . . .’
‘Oh, I don’t mind really,’ Debbie said vaguely. ‘I’m ever so fond of the kid, that’s my trouble. Sometimes I think I’d make a better mother to her than poor Biddy does and it worries me to see her left with strangers. The trouble with Biddy is she leaves everything to the last moment. She always hopes someone in the house will be planning a quiet evening at home so they can give an eye to Chloe, and when it turns out everyone’s either working or has a date she rushes round the neighbours, only to find they’ve got their own plans. So then . . . well, she’ll get some kid or other to come in and that’s not fair on Chloe.’
‘The reason she leaves it till the last minute is because she don’t like payin’ for a decent babysitter,’ Millie said bluntly. ‘I don’t understand her; she’s earning good money at the munitions factory, so she could afford proper childcare. I mean, Mrs Batley looks after Chloe all day, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes, but Biddy sends money home, you know – to her parents in Ireland, I mean – and she’s saving up so that when the war’s over and she goes back to Dublin she’ll be able to afford a place of her own,’ Debbie said glibly. She did not know if this was true, in fact she doubted it, but it was what Biddy had said one day when questioned by Mrs Batley and it was a much more acceptable explanation for Biddy’s behaviour than the fact that she spent every penny she earned on buying clothing coupons on the black market, or going to the flicks.
Millie sniffed. ‘We all give our mams as much as we can,’ she said grudgingly, and then apparently remembered Debbie’s circumstances and flushed. ‘Sorry, queen, I weren’t thinking. See you tomorrow mornin’ in work, then.’
‘But what about the film?’ Debbie asked, dismayed. ‘Won’t you come with me tomorrow evening?’
‘Can’t,’ Millie said briefly. ‘I
told
you. I’m going to me nephew’s birthday party.’
‘Yes, of course. I remember. Well, never mind. I’ll go by myself; it’ll serve me right for ruining your cinema trip,’ Debbie said remorsefully. ‘T.T.F.N. then, queen.’
Once Millie had gone, Debbie settled down to a lonely evening. She had finished darning her stockings so she picked up the knitting which Biddy had cast down, intending to add a few rows, but then changed her mind. She did quite enough for Biddy as it was, and though she was always glad to lend Biddy clothing she had been annoyed that Biddy had taken her brand new shoes without so much as a by your leave, and she knew that Sandra, the girl whose dance dress had been borrowed, would never have consented to lending it had she been in the house at the time. Biddy’s riding for a fall, she told herself, pouring a cup of tea. She’s very sweet and charming when she wants something from you but she’s not yet learned to give as well as to take, and she jolly well should. She’s three years older than me but you’d never think it because she’s so irresponsible. Oh, dear, I know I shouldn’t criticise her because most of the time I really love her; she’s kind, easy-going and good fun. I suppose I didn’t like her taking my shoes without asking, which is rather petty but I can’t help it. And I
did
want to see
Now Voyager
. Still, perhaps one of the other girls might be free to come with me tomorrow night . . .
At this stage in her musings, somebody knocked on the front door. Dusty shot into the hallway, barking madly, and Debbie, who had just settled herself in the most comfortable of the fireside chairs, groaned and got to her feet. If it was someone trying to persuade her to hand over savings stamps in the ‘Wings for Victory’ campaign, then she would tell them to find someone who hadn’t already contributed heavily. And if it was someone else trying to collect saucepans to make a Spitfire she would remind them, caustically, that all her personal saucepans had been lost in the Blitz and they had better go elsewhere. Armed with this intention, she snatched the front door open, saying belligerently: ‘Yes? What is it?’
The young man standing on the doorstep looked startled, to say the least. He began to speak, was halfway through a hesitant sentence, when Debbie gave a squeak of joy and almost jumped into his arms. Fortunately, as she did so, a broad smile swept across his face and he picked her up and whirled her round, then gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. ‘Debbie! My, but haven’t you grown! I were about to ask if you remembered me, but it’s pretty plain you do. How
are
you, queen? Oh, but it’s grand to see you again.’
‘Oh, Dicky, it’s grand to see you as well,’ Debbie said breathlessly. ‘But where have you been? And how did you find out where I lived? Oh, listen to me rabbitin’ on. I’m forgetting me manners . . . do come in. I’ve just brewed a pot of tea and there’s some scones . . . Oh, Dicky, it’s just so good to see you after all this time!’
Dusty was dancing round him as though they had known one another all their lives and Debbie wondered, fleetingly, whether the dog could possibly remember that gift of a sticky bun, all that time ago. But Dusty, she reminded herself, was a very remarkable animal . . . and very fond of sticky buns. It was quite possible that the incident had remained in his doggy mind.
However, she was glad the dog had not barked and woken Chloe. She led Dicky into the kitchen, poured him a cup of tea, and was amused when he produced a small phial of saccharin tablets, waving away her offer of sugar. ‘No one takes sugar no more, but I’ve a sweet tooth so I carry me saccharin tablets everywhere,’ he told her. ‘As for finding you . . . well, I asked around, and when I mentioned the baby, they said to try number four. So I did, and here I am.’
‘Oh yes, of course; you must have guessed that I’d found the baby’s mother because you dropped me off here, as I recall,’ Debbie said, remembering. ‘But where have you been all this time, Dicky, and why are you here now?’
He put his arm round her shoulders and gave her a brotherly hug. ‘I were on the east coast but they’ve moved me up here, so I thought I’d see if I could find you, and here I am. I went round to Daisy Street but the Soameses weren’t there.’
‘Oh, they’re in North Wales and mean to stay there after the war. I keep in touch with Mrs Soames by letter, though she’s not too good at answering back.’ As she talked Debbie had been pouring a second cup of tea and now she pushed Dicky into one of the fireside chairs, spread margarine rather thinly on a scone and handed it to him. Then she sank into her own chair and let her eyes rove approvingly over him. ‘The uniform suits you – but why haven’t you called before?’
‘I have popped round a couple of times, only you were’ never in. I didn’t leave me name because I wasn’t certain exactly who did live here. The woman who answered my knock the first time said there were six young ladies all living under this one roof and for the life of me I couldn’t bring your name to mind – I thought it were Dolly – but the minute I set eyes on you just now, I remembered the lot. Debbie Ryan, I thought, that’s the girl; little Debbie Ryan! And I take it from what you’ve just said that you
did
find the baby’s mother and that she lives here with you.’
‘That’s right; her name’s Biddy Callaghan and the baby’s called Chloe. Biddy’s probably my best pal; she’s Irish and very pretty. To tell you the truth, she reminds me of Gwen in lots of ways . . . particularly to look at. She’s small and dark and very lively and vivacious. She works in the munitions factory.’
Dicky’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You mean she’s working right now? Oh, I suppose she must be, since she’s obviously not here.’
‘No, actually she’s gone dancing at the Grafton with a chap called Paddy,’ Debbie told him. ‘Do you remember Dusty, Dicky? I’m pretty sure he remembers you because he barks like mad at strangers and he’s not uttered a peep. We did think, Biddy and myself, of sending him into the country with the Soameses, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to part with him.’
Dicky nodded. ‘Yes, I can understand that, though the country’s the best place for dogs, and for kids,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you and this Biddy join the Land Army? I’m sure they’d welcome the baby, only I suppose she’s not a baby any more, not really.’
‘No, she isn’t really a baby, she’s going on for three and a gorgeous little girl. As for joining up, we tried, but the authorities wouldn’t let us because we’re doing essential war work,’ Debbie explained. ‘We’re experienced as well, you see, and perhaps we wouldn’t make very good land girls. Anyway, it seems we’re stuck here for the duration so we must make the best of it. And now tell me a bit about yourself, Dicky. Where are you stationed? Why did they send you home?’

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