Put Out the Fires (27 page)

“Well, I’m used to hard work at Dunnings, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but it’s entirely different sort of work; backbreaking, and rather lonely. You’re used to crowds and having your family around.”

Which was exactly what Eileen didn’t want at the moment. “I think I’ll give it a try,” she persisted. “Even if Conor doesn’t want me on his farm, I can join the Land Army, anyroad, and work somewhere else. I don’t care where it is, though I like it round here.”

“In that case, I’ll drive you into Norwich,” Kate said in a matter-of-fact voice. “If there’s a local recruiting office, Norwich is where it will be. I’ll make some enquiries on your behalf.”

“You always seem to be doing that,” Eileen said wryly.

“When I asked about getting divorced, you said, ‘I’ll make some enquiries on your behalf’.”

“Did I?” Kate looked at her keenly. “I hope you’re doing the right thing. We’re not due to leave for a few days.

Perhaps you’d like to think about it a bit more?”

Eileen shook her head. “No. Me mind’s made up. To be frank, I don’t really give a damn what I do, but I’ve got to do something, haven’t I? All I know is, I don’t want to go back to Pearl Street, not yet, anyroad.”

To Eileen’s surprise, Sheila didn’t seem the least bit shocked when she returned home to Bootle a few days later to collect some things and told her what had happened.

“I’ve applied to join the Land Army, Sheil. I’m going to work in Norfolk.”

Sheila looked as if she might cry. She took her sister in her arms and hugged her tightly. “I understand, sis, though I’ll miss you terrible. It was bad enough when you were only going to live in Melling.”

“And I’ll miss you, Sheil.”

Her dad was equally understanding. “Good idea, luv,” he nodded approvingly. “You need a change. But what about your house, just in case it doesn’t work out, like?”

“I’m keeping the house on, Dad,” she informed him.

Sheila was already back in Number 21 now that it was repaired. “There’s droves of people without a home to go to since the Christmas raids. I’ve been in touch with the Billeting Office and some other family is going to rent it for a few months until their own place is put right.”

George Ransome had offered to store her personal possessions in his boxroom. Sheila would sort everything out once Eileen had gone.

“Do us a favour, sis,” Eileen implored. “Take Tony’s things, his clothes and toys. I can’t bear to look at them.

You can keep whatever you want.”

“All right, Eil. I’ll keep the clothes, but not the toys. I’ll hand those into one of them Rest Centres. I’d only nag our kids soft in case they got broken.”

Before leaving, Eileen went to see Ruth and Jacob Singerman and apologised for leaving the responsibility for Dilys Evans entirely on Ruth’s shoulders. “How’s she coping?” she asked. “I hope you can manage on your own?”

“She’s coping well,” Ruth assured her, which was the opposite of the truth. Dilys was growing more and more hysterical by the day, so much so, that when Ruth had visited her yesterday the landlady had complained as she was leaving, “She cries all day long. It disturbs the other girls and upsets my husband. Has she no family of her own who can help?”

Ruth couldn’t very well explain Dilys’ family had thrown her out, else the woman would want to know why. “No,” she lied. “She’s all alone, an orphan.”

The landlady looked sympathetic, but doubtful. “It wouldn’t be so bad if she’d let me help, but she locks the door and won’t answer when I knock.” She went on to ask when the baby was due.

“About the middle of February,” Ruth guessed wildly.

“She got her dates mixed up so she can’t be positive.”

“You realise she won’t be able to stay once the child arrives? The other girls have to be up early for work and I don’t want their sleep disturbed by a crying baby. I did tell the woman from Dunnings that when she first enquired.”

“I realise,” Ruth sighed.

Eileen was saying, “If you have any problems, Ruth, get onto Miss Thomas. She’ll know what to do.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“How’s your dad?” Eileen whispered as Jacob went into the back kitchen to feed the white kitten, which seemed to have grown considerably since she’d last seen it.

“Much better, thanks. Almost his old self again.”

“That’s good,” Eileen felt relieved. “I was dead worried about him when I was away.” As Jacob shuffled back into the room, she said, “I hope you don’t mind looking after Snowy for a while longer?”

“Not at all, Eileen. In fact, I’ve grown so fond of him, I’m dreading the time coming when you’ll want him back.”

“In that case, please keep him,” she said quickly. “Tony loved his kitten dearly, and I feel guilty about leaving him behind. He would have wanted you to have him more than anyone.”

Jacob’s old face twisted in a mixture of sadness and delight. “Are you sure, Eileen?”

“Positive.” She’d no idea when she would be back in Pearl Street, if ever, and Snowy was merely another haunting reminder of her lost son.

Ruth came to the door with her when it was time to leave. “I envy you, in a way.”

“Envy me?” said Eileen, astonished.

“Oh, not the circumstances,” Ruth said hastily, “though I know exactly how you feel. I’ve lost two children, but I suppose with me there’s always the chance they might still be alive. No, I meant I envy the fact you’ve joined the Land Army. I wish I could do something worthwhile and adventurous towards the war effort. I’m fed up with Reece’s, it seems such a trite way to spend my time, but the pay’s good and the hours are short which means I don’t have to leave my father on his own for very long.” Jacob was undoubtedly better, but he seemed fragile of late, and frequently fell asleep nursing the kitten in his chair. There were times when he seemed so still that Ruth was scared to touch him in case he was dead. “I’m sorry, Eileen.” She involuntarily clasped the woman by the shoulders. “I shouldn’t be burdening you with this. You’ve more than enough worries of your own.” There was something about Eileen that always made Ruth want to confide in her.

“Don’t give it a second thought, luv.” Eileen smiled warmly. “I think I know what you mean—I’d probably feel the same way meself

“I’ve started a bank account,” Ruth said shyly. “As soon as I can, I intend to go to America in search of Simon and Leah.”

Eileen paused, then kissed Ruth impulsively on the cheek. “I’ll give you my address, shall I? Then you can write and tell me all the news.”

As Eileen pushed her legs into the stiff overalls, she wondered if Ruth would still be envious if she could see her now. She was almost fully dressed by the time she got out of bed. She put an extra cardigan on, then the duffel coat, tied a woollen scarf around her head and went downstairs.

Her boots were in the back porch. The soles leaked and the fleecy lining was still damp from the previous day.

She’d scarcely had them on a minute before her feet felt cold despite her thick socks. She stamped on the coconut mat to try and warm them before going outside into the blackness of the morning, where she found the mud had frozen into solid ridges during the night. The dog gave a muted “woof, but she said firmly, ‘It’s only me, Rex,’ and he subsided with a muffled growl. He was beginning to get to know her. As she made her stumbling way across to the cowshed, the wind howled and she could feel flecks of snow whipping against her face. Ted was already at work in the end stall. Several oil lamps were suspended from the rafters casting a yellow glow over the scene. Despite everything, her cold feet, her desperate need for a hot drink and her general misery, Eileen always found the cowshed rather welcoming. It seemed to have an almost religious significance, reminding her of cribs and Bethlehem and the birth of Baby Jesus.

“Morning,” Ted said shortly.

“Morning.” She picked up a stool and carried it into the stall furthest away from Ted. Ten days ago, when she’d first started and after some brief instruction, she’d barely managed to milk two cows by the time Ted had done the other twelve. Yesterday morning, she’d managed six.

“You’re not too bad at this,” Ted conceded. He seemed quite pleased. “Much better than that bloody Peggy woman.”

“Peggy’s a far better worker than you give her credit for,” Eileen said defensively, but Ted merely grunted in reply. Poor Peggy was driven to distraction by his constant criticism. She could do nothing right in Ted’s eyes. Perhaps it was because he thought Eileen was a friend of Conor Kinnear’s, or maybe he felt sorry for her - she’d discovered on her first day he knew about Francis and Tony—but he was always friendly and encouraging.

“Morning, Norma,” she whispered, patting the cow’s rump before proceeding to pump away at her icy swollen teats with equally icy fingers. It was no use trying to milk a cow with gloves on. A satisfying gush of milk poured into the metal container underneath. When she’d finished, Eileen stroked the animal’s soft neck. “Thanks, Norma,” she murmured. “You’ve been a very good cow today.”

Norma was inclined to be frisky if she was in a certain sort of mood, and once had Eileen off her stool and into the straw with a sudden flick of her tail.

She carried the stool into the next stall. “And how are you today, Daphne?”

“Humph!” There was a grunt from the far end of the shed. “I’ve never known cows given names and talked to before.”

“The horses have names and you talk to them. Anyroad, they respond better if you have a little chat.”

“Who said?”

Eileen didn’t answer, but wished Ted’s cordial attitude was shared by his wife. Until officially a member of the Land Army, she wasn’t entitled to live in the hostel along with Peggy and the other local land girls. Initially, she’d thought Conor and Laura might accommodate her in the big house.

Instead, it had been arranged that she live on the farm.

“I hope you get on with Edna Wright,” Kate said worriedly when everything was sorted out. “I’ve always found her a frightfully difficult person. It’s a pity, in a way, you’ve got to stay with them. It would have been much nicer to have gone straight into the hostel, but then it would have meant waiting, and I know you’re desperate to start straight away.”

Eileen remembered the woman who’d stared at her more balefully than the dog on the day she’d visited the farm. Maybe her bark’s worse than her bite, she’d thought hopefully.

But she was wrong. Edna Wright was the rudest and most unfriendly person Eileen had ever met. She seemed to regard their temporary lodger as an intruder. If circumstances had been different, if Eileen had cared about being happy, she might not have stuck it out at the farmhouse after the first night.

She’d been on and off freezing trains and waiting on freezing stations since leaving Liverpool at six o’clock that morning, and as she was expected, hoped someone would be at the station to meet her. But there was no-one, and she was forced to walk down miles of dark country lanes carrying her suitcase which grew heavier with each step.

Fortunately, she’d come across the station during her long walks and more or less knew the way.

There’d been no sign of Ted when she reached the house. A surly, hatchet-faced Edna showed her to her room without uttering a single word, not even in response to Eileen’s polite attempts at conversation as they made their way upstairs.

“Well, if that’s the way you want it . . . ” she muttered when the woman left after drawing the blind and plonking the oil lamp she was carrying on the bedside table, leaving Eileen alone in the white painted room with its sloped ceiling and brass bedstead. It was quite a pretty room in a bare, almost spartan sort of way, with plain white curtains I and a lovely old-fashioned jug and pitcher set on the washstand above which a faded sampler was embroidered I with Oh Lord, Welcome All They Who Reside Under My Roof.

“Huh!” Eileen said aloud. She unpacked her clothes, put them away in the curtained alcove, and wondered if she was supposed to go downstairs for something to eat. As usual, she was dying for a cup of tea, but surely Edna would have said if there was going to be a meal?

She sat on the bed and waited and waited for Edna to call. Whilst she waited, it got colder and colder. She glanced around the room for a fireplace, but there was none, and no electricity, either. She shivered. How was she supposed to keep warm?

After about an hour of waiting, she realised she wasn’t going to be fed. There was a wireless downstairs and she could hear music, voices, laughter. The sounds made her feel isolated and very alone.

What on earth was she doing here, in this strange cold room, desperate for a cup of tea and hundreds of miles away from the people who loved her? For a while, she briefly contemplated packing her suitcase and going back to Bootle, even if it meant waiting on the station all night until a local train arrived to take her as far as Norwich. But there was nothing for her in Bootle now, merely memories, she thought sadly. The people who loved her had their own lives to lead. There was nothing for her anywhere. Anyroad, this was what she wanted, to be alone. It was why she’d applied to join the Land Army, to get away from people and places she knew, things that reminded her of what she’d lost. Eileen realised she’d entirely forgotten about Nick.

She sighed, and decided to go to bed, though she did a Mr Singerman and left on most of her underclothes underneath her nightdress. The sheets were crisp and fresh and seemed to be made of ice, though after a while she began to feel warm and fell asleep more quickly than expected.

During the night, she was disturbed twice by the sound of aeroplanes passing overhead, but as there’d been no siren, she assumed they were from the nearby RAF camp on their way to Germany and back with a load of bombs.

Ted woke her by banging on the door and shouting, “Mrs Costello, Eileen.”

Grey daylight filtered through the white curtains.

Eileen got out of bed and hurriedly put a coat over her nightdress before opening the door. Ted looked harried as he stood frowning down at her. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Have I slept in?”

“I deliberately left you, seeing as how you’d had such a long journey yesterday, but it’ll be half past six from tomorrow on. Put your working clothes on and I’ll show you what’s to be done. Breakfast’ll be in about half an hour.”