The Silent War (52 page)

Gary laughed. ‘Sorry, Doll,’ he replied. ‘I never go to the movies.’

‘The United States of America, huh?’ said Joe, his mouth full of sausage roll as he talked to Sunday. ‘So what are yer goin’ ter be doin’ with yer life over there, may I ask?’

‘Trying to learn how to be a wife,’ Sunday replied, clutching on to Gary’s arm.

‘An’ what’s that supposed ter mean?’

‘It means that I’ve got quite a lot of catching up to do, Joe,’ she replied. ‘For this past year or so, I’ve stopped living. Now it’s time to wake up again.’

Gary squeezed her arm in his, and they exchanged an affectionate look.

‘No hope for this pair!’ Joe called to the other guests. ‘Another good man gone to his doom!’

Gales of laughter swept through the crowd of guests.

‘Sunday. Can I have a quick word with you for a moment, please?’

In order to hear what Helen was saying, Sunday had to turn her good ear right around and face her.

‘Why?’ she answered. ‘Anything wrong, Helen?’

Helen shook her head, but looked a bit concerned.

Sunday left the group she had been talking to, and made her way through the guests towards the front door.

‘There’s someone asking for you,’ Helen said, looking a shade anxious. ‘He says he won’t go until he’s seen you.’

‘Who is it?’

Helen shrugged her shoulders. ‘Be careful. I don’t like the look of him.’

Helen opened the front door. Sunday went out. Standing outside on the landing was Ernie Mancroft.

Sunday felt her whole body tense. ‘What are you doing here, Ernie?’ she asked warily.

‘Wotcha, Sun!’ Ernie replied, holding his hand out for her.

Sunday refused to shake it.

Ernie smiled and withdrew his hand. He was dressed really sharply, in a dark double-breasted pin-striped suit with wide lapels and padded shoulders, a wide, flashy, multicoloured tie, and his short hair combed back and sludged with thick Brylcreem. He looked like what Sunday thought he probably was – a wide-boy spiv.

‘I come ter offer yer congratulations, Sun,’ he said. ‘Looks like the best man’s won.’

‘We have nothing to say, Ernie,’ Sunday said. ‘I’m going away tomorrow, and I’ll never see you again.’

‘I know,’ said Ernie forlornly, bowing his head quickly, and then raising it again. ‘That’s why I wanted ter say sorry – before yer go.’

Sunday looked suspicious. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked.

From inside the flat there came gales of laughter as someone told a joke. Ernie waited for the row to subside before he continued. ‘I’ve bin a number-one nut, Sun. An’ I wanted yer ter know that I’m sorry for all the ’assle I’ve caused yer.’ He pulled on the fag he had been holding in his hand, and blew smoke up into the air. ‘Y’see, you’ve always bin a sorta release for me. When yer come from my kind of people, my kind of background – well, yer daydream – about beautiful fings, beautiful people. That’s what yer’ve always bin ter me, Sun – a beautiful person. I couldn’t get yer outa my mind. But . . .’ He threw his fag to the stone landing floor, and stubbed his foot on it. ‘As my ol’ man used ter say – there’s always a time ter move on. An’ I reckon I’m about ready ter do just that,’ he said, with one of his old mischievous grins. Then he turned towards the staircase, and called, ‘Nick!’

Sunday strained to see who was coming up the stone steps. It was a brassy-looking girl, with frizzy black hair, a pale complexion; and a good slap of make-up. She actually had a sweet, smiling face, except that at this
particular
moment her head seemed to be a little too small for her body.

‘Sun,’ Ernie said, bringing the girl forward. ‘I’d like yer ter meet Nicky. Nick, this is Sun.’

The girl stretched out her hand to Sunday. ‘’Allo, Sunday,’ she said squeakily. ‘Yer’ve got a lovely name. Ernie’s told me all about yer.’

Sunday was puzzled, confused. She shook hands with the girl. ‘Thank you,’ was all she could say.

Ernie was enjoying Sunday’s reaction. ‘Nick an’ me’s gettin’ spliced,’ he said proudly. ‘If we make it in time, that is,’ he added, patting her belly.

‘Ernie!’ snapped the girl, immediately blushing. ‘Don’t embarrass me, for Gord’s sake!’

‘What the hell’re you doin’ here!’

Gary came out of the flat, and immediately put his arms protectively around Sunday. ‘No, Gary!’ Sunday said, quickly restraining him. ‘Ernie’s getting married.’

Gary froze, and did a double-take.

‘This is his fiancée.’

The brassy girl held out a limp hand to Gary. ‘’Ow d’yer do. I’m Nicky.’

Gary was so taken aback, he shook hands with her.

Then Ernie held out his hand. ‘Wotcha, mate! No ’ard feelin’s, I ’ope?’

Gary was suspicious, and exchanged a questioning look with Sunday. But the look on her face told him that it was all right, so he shook hands with Ernie.

Ernie had a broad grin on his face. ‘I’ll tell yer somefin’, mate,’ he said cheekily. ‘Yer got a good right-’ander there.’ And to illustrate what he meant, he rubbed his chin. ‘An’ I should know!’

‘Would you like to come in and have a drink, Ernie?’ Sunday asked, rather daringly Gary thought.

Ernie shook his head, and took hold of the brassy girl’s hand. ‘Nah fanks, Sun,’ he answered. ‘Gotta get the ol’ gel ’ome. She ain’t gettin’ any younger!’

The girl pushed him, and put her arm through his.

‘So, all the best ter boaf of yer,’ said Ernie. ‘’Ere’s ter ’appy times.’ Then he took one last look at Sunday, making direct eye contact with her. ‘Be seein’ yer then, Sun.’

Sunday looked straight into his eyes, and was shocked to recognise despair in them. ‘Be seeing you, Ernie,’ she replied, giving him for the very first time a warm smile.

Then Ernie and his girl turned, and made for the stairs. But the moment they had disappeared out of view, Ernie’s voice came echoing up the staircase.

‘Give me best ter Uncle Sam!’ he called.

As expected, the last of the guests didn’t leave until well into the evening, and once Sunday had drawn the curtains, she and Gary set about cleaning up, and putting all the remaining bits and pieces into packing-cases. It was past midnight before they got to bed, and Sunday thought it ironic that she should be spending her wedding night in her own flat and her own bed. But tonight was different, very different. After all, she and Gary had slept together before, and she was now wearing a sexy nightdress he had brought for her from the States, which
was
very different to the pyjamas and old towelling robe she had always been used to wearing. But by the time she turned off the light and snuggled down in Gary’s arms, there was no doubt that both of them were absolutely exhausted. So, for a while, they just lay there in the dark, mesmerised by a thin shaft of wintry moonlight which was mischievous enough to peer through a gap in the thick velour curtains.

‘You know something, Gary,’ Sunday said, her voice barely audible. ‘I’m scared.’

Gary turned to face her good ear. ‘Scared? What of?’ he asked softly.

‘The future. What it’s all going to be like. What I have to do to hold on to you.’

In the dark, Gary smiled. Then he smoothed her hair gently with his hand. ‘The future’s going to be just fine,’ he said. ‘We’re together, Sun. You don’t have to hold on
to
me, because from now on I’m never going anywhere without you.’ He leant over and kissed her tenderly on her forehead.

‘The thing is,’ Sunday continued, ‘when I said goodbye to all the children at school yesterday, I couldn’t help thinking about what it’s been like this past year.’ She turned to face him. ‘I still have nightmares. I can see me walking along Holloway Road, with my hands clutched over my ears. I can see people’s faces as they yell at me, telling me to take cover. Why couldn’t I hear what they were hearing? Why was everything so quiet, so silent? Those kids – I was just as helpless as those kids, running through streets with bombs falling around me, not being able to know how close I was to death, not knowing which way to run, not understanding what I was supposed to do in that horrible silent war.’ She paused a moment, then added, ‘Gary, I was so scared. I’m still scared.’

Gary remained quiet for a moment before answering. Then he spoke. ‘You know why, Sun?’ he said. ‘You’re scared because of the uncertainty, because somewhere inside you’re convinced it’s all goin’ to happen again, that you’re goin’ to wake up one morning and find you’ve been plunged back into that silent world.’

‘But it’s possible.’

‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘But you never thought it was possible to hear anythin’ again.’ He snuggled up closer. ‘Look at it this way, Sun,’ he said. ‘You have a great advantage over so many people. You’ve been there. You know what it’s like. Whatever happens from now on can never be the same. Just don’t ever forget those kids, because they won’t forget you. Remember everything you’ve learnt – about sign language, lip-reading, the whole works. When you meet my ma, show her what you can do. She understands British sign language. She’ll help you. We owe it to ourselves to make sure that we keep in touch with any goddamn person who can’t hear, can’t read or write, or can’t see. We owe it to those kids, to all kids, to everyone. You won’t be scared, Sun, because I won’t let you.’

They lay in the dark for several minutes without saying anything. All Sunday could think about now was how much she loved him.

After a few moments, Gary reached beneath the bed-clothes, and removed his undershorts. Then, while he was taking off his vest, he heard the rustle of Sunday’s nightdress as she slipped it over her head. He was soon kneeling over her, one leg either side of her. And in the dark, he leaned forward, found her lips again, and pressed his own against them.

And then they made love.

When Sunday woke first thing in the morning, she had butterflies in her stomach. So much was happening today, leaving the flat, leaving ‘the Buildings’, leaving Holloway, and leaving behind everything she had known since she was a child. Worst of all was the thought of going on an airplane for the first time in her life, all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, twenty hours in the air, with stops in Scotland, Iceland, and Newfoundland before even getting to New York. Twenty hours! And then that long train journey all the way across America to Gary’s home in Montana. And meeting his parents, his sister, and all the family. Oh God! What would happen if they hated her on sight! She was beginning to think it was all a big mistake.

Gary took his time getting up. After all, it was only eight o’clock and the taxi wasn’t coming to collect them until eleven. Anyway, the only reason he got up at all was because of the thought of fried eggs, and bread being toasted in the kitchen. So he quickly shaved and took a bath, and in twenty minutes he and Sunday were sitting at the only table that was left in the entire flat, sipping tea and Camp coffee, and making the most of their last breakfast on British soil for a heck of a long time.

Whilst they were in the middle of eating, Gary noticed that Sunday was looking a little despondent.

‘What’s on your mind, babe?’ he asked.

Sunday put down her knife and fork. ‘Aunt Louie,’ she said, with a sigh.

‘Yeah, that’s right. She never came back here after the wedding.’

‘I know,’ Sunday said, leaving the rest of her fried egg and toast. ‘I said goodbye to her outside the Town Hall.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

Sunday pondered for a moment. ‘I’d hoped – that she might tell me something before I went. About my mother. My real mother.’

‘Sunday . . .’ Gary leaned across the table, held her hand, and stroked it affectionately with one finger. ‘You’re who you are, not where you came from. It doesn’t matter who your parents were.’

‘It matters to me, Gary,’ she said, getting up from the table, and taking her plate to the sink. ‘I can’t bear going through life with this cloud hanging over me. My mum pledged Aunt Louie to secrecy. There must be a reason why.’

Gary had by now finished his breakfast, so he got up from the table, picked up his plate and put it down in the sink. ‘Look, Sun,’ he said, holding her round the waist, and looking into her eyes. ‘If this is that important to you, we’ll find out.’

‘How?’

‘We’ll pay someone to snoop around.’

Sunday shook her head. ‘No, Gary. It’ll be all right once I’m away from here, away from this flat, away from all these memories. All I wish – is that Aunt Louie could have found it in her heart to – to tell me.’

They were suddenly interrupted by someone knocking on the front door. Both looked startled.

‘It can’t be already!’ gasped Sunday, panicking.

‘Don’t be a dope, babe!’ said Gary, rushing after her out of the kitchen. ‘The taxi isn’t due for two more hours!’

Sunday pulled her towelling robe tightly around her,
then
hurried to the front door. When she opened it, she was astonished to see who was standing there.

‘Mrs Denning!’ she said. ‘What a surprise. Come in.’

Still in his vest and shorts, Gary quickly retreated to the bedroom.

‘I’m sorry to call on you so early, Sunday,’ said Captain Sarah, as she entered. ‘But I wanted to catch you before you left.’

Sunday shut the door, and showed her into the parlour. ‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a chair,’ she said apologetically. ‘We’ve got rid of nearly everything.’

Captain Sarah waved her hand dismissively. It was the first time Sunday had ever seen her out of uniform. ‘What I have to say will only take a few minutes. I’ve got something for you to take with you to America.’ She unclipped her handbag, brought out a small oblong-shaped packet wrapped in brown paper. ‘It’s a little wedding gift,’ she said, handing the packet to Sunday.

‘What is it?’ Sunday asked. ‘Can I open it now?’

The Captain smiled. ‘Of course.’

Sunday opened the packet. Inside was a small framed photograph of the Highbury Salvation Army Brass Band.

‘We thought you’d like a little memento,’ said Captain Sarah, pointing out something in the photo. ‘That’s your mum – there, d’you see, second from the left? Euphonium on her lap, as always.’ She looked up at Sunday. ‘I hope you like it?’

Sunday was too upset to answer.