Orphans of the Storm (41 page)
For some reason Ralph Middleton attached himself to her, and she was glad of it, because every time he spoke images of Pete danced in her mind, and other images too: a great river in whose depths strange creatures – crocodiles and water snakes – lurked; a house made of timber with a wide veranda on which a family sat to eat their meals, read their letters, discuss their problems. Letters! Of course, why had she never thought of the letters? All through her childhood and adolescence, letters had winged their way between Australia and Liverpool as two old friends shared both triumphs and disasters, described their lives, their loves, their families.
Beside her, Ralph took her hand. He examined her fingers as though searching for some clue. ‘You aren’t a land girl because your nails are clean; you ain’t in the catering business because if you had your hands in water half the day your fingers would have a spongy look.’ He put her hand down and smiled at her. ‘You’re somebody’s secretary,’ he said triumphantly. ‘Unless you’re one of those mannequins who walk up and down the big stores, showing off the pretty frocks.’
‘I’m a wireless assembler,’ Debbie told him. ‘But never mind what I do. I’ve just been wondering if you could help me? You see, my mam’s greatest friend lives in Australia, but I’ve lost her address . . . well, not lost exactly. My home was bombed and everything in it was destroyed. But there was a young fellow . . . he arrived in Liverpool on the worst night of the bombing and he was actually there when I was dug out of the ruins . . . and I think he might have been her son. My mam was killed in the raid but Pete – his name was Pete – got me lodgings and was most awfully kind. He had my address but I never had his, and since I moved in with friends within a couple of days of Pete’s returning to his airfield, we lost touch. Is there any way that I could find him, do you suppose?’
‘What’s his name?’ Ralph said immediately. ‘And have you any idea whereabouts in Britain he was stationed?’
‘I think his name is Pete Sullivan,’ Debbie said slowly. ‘You see, someone told me he was Pete Solomon – or I thought that was what she said – so I didn’t connect him with my mam’s old friend. Well, to tell you the truth, I didn’t even know he was an Australian. He never said and I simply didn’t guess, or perhaps I just didn’t put two and two together. I haven’t made much attempt to find him, though I’ve asked a lot of RAF types if they’ve come across a Peter Solomon. But since I never said he was Australian I suppose I might have been speaking to his best friend without either of us realising who I meant.’
The young man nodded thoughtfully. ‘Your best bet would be to write to the Air Ministry, I guess,’ he said. ‘It’ll take months, because such enquiries tend to be handed from one department to another, but I’m sure you’ll get some satisfaction in the end. I suppose you don’t know where Mrs Sullivan lives? Most Australians live round the coast – Sydney would be your best bet. Did the family live in New South Wales?’
‘I don’t know,’ Debbie wailed dismally. ‘Oh, they had a cattle station. When I was little, I used to think they must be royal. Is there somewhere with “king” in the name?’
Ralph began to shake his head, then said triumphantly: ‘Queensland! Could it have been Queensland?’
Debbie gave an excited little bounce in her seat. ‘I’m sure it was . . . is, I mean,’ she said. ‘Would Mrs Sullivan, Queensland, Australia find her, do you suppose?’
Ralph laughed. ‘I’ve never been to Queensland but I know it’s enormous – ten times the size of Great Britain. But it’s very sparsely populated,’ he told her. ‘You could try writing; it just might come off.’
Soon after this, Debbie left the party. She had intended to go home unaccompanied, but her new friend would not hear of it. ‘There’s fellers out there, mad with excitement and foolish with drink, just looking for a pretty little sheila like you,’ he said. And in the face of this information, Debbie felt obliged to accept his escort. Presently she was glad she had done so, for as he had said the crowds outside were still wild with excitement and they were continually being bumped and jostled. People were good natured, to be sure, but Debbie realised that had she been unaccompanied she would have been very frightened indeed.
Ralph went with her to the door of No. 4 Lavender Court and accepted her invitation to come in for a cup of cocoa. Two of the other girls were still up, so they all had cocoa together and then Ralph asked Debbie, very shyly, if he might see her again. Debbie looked at him thoughtfully. He had a round, freckled face, hazel green eyes and a snub nose, and she was aware that he had done her a very good turn; had it not been for Ralph she might never have realised that Pete’s name was Sullivan, not Solomon, and that he was most probably the son of her mother’s best friend. So she agreed to meet him again next time he had some leave, and then waved him off and turned, thankfully, back into the kitchen. Sandy and Ruth were still there, preparing their sandwiches for the next day, chatting busily as they did so. Debbie considered making her own snap but then decided to check on Chloe first, unless Biddy was in already, of course. She turned to the two girls. ‘Is Biddy back yet? Only we got separated when we reached the firework display and didn’t manage to meet up again.’
Sandy grinned at her. ‘Well, you didn’t waste much time in replacing Dicky,’ she observed. ‘He’s nice, that Ralph of yours. Known him long?’
‘As if you didn’t know,’ Debbie scoffed, returning the grin. ‘I met him for the first time this evening. A pal from work asked me to go back to her house, and when we got there we found quite a party going on. Ralph was one of the guests. Is Biddy in yet?’
To her surprise, the girls exchanged a quick glance and then Ruth muttered, ‘I dunno; I think . . . but you’d best go up and see for yourself.’
Something in the way she spoke alarmed Debbie and she flew up the stairs, then went quietly into the bedroom, her heart thumping. As soon as she entered the room, she knew it was empty. There was no Biddy curled up in her small bed; no Chloe starfished in Debbie’s, no Dusty either, but there was a brown manila envelope propped up on her pillow. Debbie grabbed it, then lit the candle on the washstand, her hands trembling so much that she had to make three attempts before the wick caught. Then she sat heavily down on her bed, opened the envelope and read the blotched and ill-spelt letter within.
Dear Debbie,Me and Dicky have decided to take Chloe back to Ireland. I reckon we’ll get wed in Dublin. I knew if I told you you’d be really angry with me, so I’ve not said nothing. If you loved Dicky, I wouldn’t have tried to take him off you, but you don’t, do you? I always have, ever since the first time we met, though he didn’t treat me too good, one way and another. That time he come to the court and you threw yourself into his arms (he telled me how it were) he were after me – didn’t you guess? No, you’re too nice, but there’s some chaps aren’t content with one woman, and Dicky’s a bit like that.He says to tell you he’s sorry, and that he isn’t Chloe’s dad, whatever folk may think, but he’s mortal fond of her and will do right by her.I’ll write when we’ve got a place of our own and mebbe you’ll visit. Don’t be too angry with me but I reckon it’s for the best. A kid shouldn’t have two mams, and it were getting that way, weren’t it?All the best, queen,BiddyPS
We’ve took Dusty becos Chloe wouldn’t come with us, else. She loves him you know. Sorry but she wouldn’t leave him.
Debbie read the letter through several times, almost unable to believe the words she was reading. Then she went heavily downstairs, knowing that she must face the other girls sooner or later and deciding it had better be sooner. She went into the kitchen, still holding the letter, and saw at once that both girls knew. Sandy dropped the knife she was holding and came over, giving Debbie a spontaneous hug. ‘You’re going to miss Chloe because you were more like a mother to her than ever that Biddy was,’ she observed, ‘but don’t you go missing
her
. She were a bad lot, though no one ever said so to you because she were your pal. Only a real pal doesn’t treat folk the way Biddy treated you.’
her
. She were a bad lot, though no one ever said so to you because she were your pal. Only a real pal doesn’t treat folk the way Biddy treated you.’
Debbie straightened her shoulders and tried to smile. ‘I suppose I always knew that Biddy wasn’t a terribly nice person,’ she admitted. ‘But, oh, I love Chloe so much! As for Dicky . . . well, I must have been blind. I had no idea he even knew Biddy. Why, I thought I introduced them.’
Ruth looked up from carefully wrapping her sandwiches in greaseproof paper and sliding a rubber band round them. ‘Think back,’ she urged. ‘Think back to the very first time you brought Dicky into this kitchen.’
Frowning, Debbie cast her mind back, and for the first time she realised why Biddy’s initial reaction to Dicky had struck her as odd. ‘Hello, stranger,’ she had said – not because she did not know him, as Debbie had assumed at the time, but because she
did
know him and was reproaching him for not coming to see her more often. And Dicky was as guilty of deceit as Biddy had been, for he had never let Debbie know that he and Biddy were old friends, had certainly never admitted that he was fond of the other girl. But now Sandy was speaking, her voice gentle but frank. ‘Didn’t you ever notice how often Biddy went off on some spree or other, leaving you in charge of Chloe, when she knew perfectly well you’d planned an outing with Dicky? Oh, Debbie, it happened over and over and you never fought back, never insisted that she should look after her own child for once.’
did
know him and was reproaching him for not coming to see her more often. And Dicky was as guilty of deceit as Biddy had been, for he had never let Debbie know that he and Biddy were old friends, had certainly never admitted that he was fond of the other girl. But now Sandy was speaking, her voice gentle but frank. ‘Didn’t you ever notice how often Biddy went off on some spree or other, leaving you in charge of Chloe, when she knew perfectly well you’d planned an outing with Dicky? Oh, Debbie, it happened over and over and you never fought back, never insisted that she should look after her own child for once.’
‘And I never put two and two together and realised what was going on,’ Debbie said. ‘But perhaps it was because I never was terribly interested in a future with Dicky. At any rate, I hope it’s taught me a lesson not to take people at their face value.’
Ruth and Sandy both nodded. ‘You’ll get over it, queen,’ Sandy told her. ‘It’s a horrible thing to have happened and I know you’re going to miss Chloe dreadfully, but, you know, she was her mother’s daughter; one day she would have given you real grief. As it is, you’ll have to put all three of them out of your mind and get on with your own life.’ She came over to Debbie and gave her another hug. ‘That feller you brought in tonight, he seemed really nice. And when you first moved in, you talked about some chap called Pete . . .’
Debbie returned the hug. ‘Yes, I always meant to track Pete down,’ she said. ‘Oddly enough, this very evening I got a clue which I mean to follow up. And thank you both for your support and understanding; you’re a couple of
real
friends and I reckon I’m going to need you to keep me cheerful in the days to come.’
real
friends and I reckon I’m going to need you to keep me cheerful in the days to come.’
A week later, Debbie returned home to find Mrs Batley waiting for her. The older woman was dressed for work and greeted Debbie with some relief. ‘There’s a feller been round asking for you,’ she said, heading for the back door. ‘He says he found out where you lived quite by chance and will call again. Sorry, love, he didn’t leave no name, but I reckon he’ll be back. He said he’d come round later this evening, and he seemed a reliable type.’
Debbie’s heart gave a joyful bound; who could it be but Pete? She supposed he must have sufficient leave, now that the war was over, to come back to Liverpool and search for her. But Mrs Batley was saying rapidly: ‘I’ve got to go, hinny, ’cos I don’t want to be late or I’ll mebbe lose me job. I hung on just to make sure you knew you’d be having a caller later on.’
‘Thanks ever so much, Mrs B. What have I got to do for tea, since I’m first in?’ Debbie shouted, as the other woman began to hurry down the hall. ‘I know it’s not my turn but I might as well get things started.’
‘Well, I’ve done me best to buy whatever’s available, but the truth is, the shops is nigh on empty. The butcher’s were the worst; I didn’t spend half the money I’m allowed because there weren’t nothing to spend it on. Still, there’s plenty of potatoes and a fair number of other vegetables, so you could make a blind scouse.’
‘Thanks, Mrs B,’ Debbie said, going over to the pantry to collect the vegetables. If the caller had been Pete, and she couldn’t think of anyone else it could be, then she would want to ask him to share their meal. It was just hard luck that he should arrive on the day a meatless tea was planned, though such days were becoming more and more frequent as supplies dwindled.
Debbie had prepared half the vegetables before the girls began to trickle back and Lucy, whose turn it was to cook, took over. Only then did she grab a jug of water and race up the stairs to her own room, which seemed almost spacious now that it contained only one bed and no cot. Debbie was sure she would have to share again some day, but no would-be lodger had yet presented herself, and in the meantime, though she felt a little ashamed of the fact, Debbie found herself enjoying having a room of her own. She missed Chloe, but she had to admit that of late the child had been increasingly demanding. Bedtime stories, tales of her own childhood and games of I Spy might have been fun for the child, but after a long day at work Debbie now felt only relief that she was free of a responsibility that had fallen increasingly on her shoulders.
She had a strip-down wash and selected her only decent frock, the pink cotton one she had worn on VE Day. She undid the ribbon which tied back her hair, brushed it into a gleaming curtain, and decided to leave it loose for once. Then she checked her appearance in the mirror, noticing with approval how excitement had brought a faint flush to her cheeks and made her large, dark blue eyes sparkle.
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