There'll Be Blue Skies (11 page)

He thought about his sons, and the rift that had grown between them. They had once been so close, but Jim and Frank lived very separate lives now, and hadn’t spoken to each other since they’d been demobbed. He’d never discovered what had caused the quarrel and, as they both refused to discuss it, he had to accept he never would.

Setting the dark thoughts aside, he ignored the twinge in his lower back – a reminder of the shrapnel still embedded there – and lit his pipe. He might be regarded as past it by some, but he’d joined the local Defence Volunteers, carrying the old Enfield rifle he’d kept after being discharged from the army. To his mind it was only playing at soldiery, and his skills were going to waste. He had little respect for Colonel Stevens, who led the platoon; he was only a librarian, and had spent the better part of the last war well behind enemy lines in the catering corps.

Ron hawked phlegm and spat before surveying his kingdom of windswept grass and arthritic trees. The softly rolling hills above Cliffehaven were as familiar to him as the back of his hand, and a welcome escape from the claustrophobic confines of the basement rooms beneath Beach View. From his vantage point, he could see the great sweep of farm-land and pastures to the north, the sparkle of the sea beyond the white cliffs, and the tiny farming hamlets in the valleys. It was a green and pleasant land and a priceless legacy for these young ones to inherit – and although he was no spring chicken, he was determined to defend it to his last breath.

The pipe smoke drifted behind him as he called the boys to help retrieve the dozens of nets he’d laid over the rabbit burrows. Once they were all gathered and tucked away in one of his many pockets, he whistled the dog to heel and set off for home with Ernie on his shoulders, the other boys racing ahead of him.

Sally was out of breath as she fumbled with the key and stumbled through the door into the hall. ‘Ernie? Ernie, where are you?’ she cried out desperately.

‘It’s all right, dear,’ said Peggy, hurrying to her. ‘They’ll be back any minute, I’m sure.’

‘They haven’t come ’ome?’ Sally covered her mouth with her hand to hold back the anguished tears. ‘Oh, my Gawd,’ she sobbed. ‘I knew I should never ’ave let ’im go with Ron. Now ’e’s injured or dead or … or …’

‘Now, now, that’s enough of that my girl,’ said Peggy firmly as she steered her into the kitchen. ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you. I’m sure Ernie’s absolutely fine.’

‘How
can
you be sure?’ Sally demanded. ‘They ain’t back, and I saw people lying in the road, dead or dying, and the plane kept coming back and back again, and there was bullets and …’ She fell into Peggy’s arms and sobbed against her shoulder.

‘Anne,’ ordered Peggy, ‘go and get the brandy.’

‘I don’t want no brandy. I want Ernie. Oh, Gawd, I’ll never forgive meself if ’e’s been ’urt.’

Peggy gently stroked the hair out of Sally’s eyes and held her face. ‘Stop it, Sally. You’ll make yourself ill. Ron is with the boys and he’ll make sure they’re safe. They’ll be home in a minute, you’ll see.’

‘But the plane come from up there where they’ve gone. I saw it.’

‘It was too busy shooting at everyone down on the seafront to bother with an old man and three boys,’ she soothed, taking the glass of brandy from Anne with a nod of thanks. ‘Drink this, Sally. It will make you feel better.’

Sally took a sip and screwed up her face. It tasted horrible – but the shock of it seemed to calm her.

Anne came and sat beside her. ‘Did you get caught in it all, Sally? Is that why you’re so frightened?’

Sally nodded and sniffed and had to borrow yet another of Mrs Reilly’s handkerchiefs to blow her nose. ‘It were awful,’ she hiccupped. ‘It come out of nowhere and just started shooting everyone. Some bloke grabbed me and shoved me under one of them seats, otherwise I’d’ve been killed too.’

‘Whatch’a crying for Sal? Yer ain’t ’urt, are yer?’

‘Ernie? Oh, Ernie.’ Sally flew across the room and grabbed hold of him. ‘I thought you was shot,’ she said against his neck. ‘I was out of me mind with worry.’

He squirmed away from her grip. ‘Granddad Ron made us all hide in the bushes,’ he said. ‘I weren’t frightened,’ he added defiantly.

‘Thank you, Mr Reilly, for looking after ’im. I were that worried.’

Ron shrugged off her thanks, muttered something about feeding the ferrets and went back to the basement.

Ernie was frowning as he tugged at Sally’s arm. ‘What ’appened to yer coat, Sal? It’s all dirty and yer got a cut on yer knee and all.’

Sally hadn’t noticed. ‘I fell over,’ she said, smoothing back his hair from the little face that was still rosy with fresh air and excitement. ‘Weren’t looking where I were going, as usual.’

‘Cor,’ he yelled. ‘Is that a real bullet-’ole in yer bag? Is the bullet inside? Can I ’ave it?’

She took her bag from him, eyed the neat hole in the side, and realised there was another in the bottom. ‘It must ’ave gone right through,’ she said. ‘Sorry, Ernie, there ain’t no bullet.’

His little face looked mournful as he stared at the handbag. ‘Are you sure?’

She realised she had to distract him. ‘Look what I got, Ernie.’ She pulled the bag of humbugs out of her coat pocket.

‘They’re all squashed,’ he complained.

‘Sorry, luv, I must have fell on ’em. But I reckon they’ll still taste all right. Mind you share ’em now.’

She watched him sit on the top stair to the basement and bump his way down on his bottom before she sank into the chair by the fire. Her legs were shaking, and she felt as if the stuffing had been knocked out of her.

‘How can I go to work and leave ’im?’ she asked Anne. ‘What if there’s another attack and I can’t get to ’im? I thought we was supposed to be safe ’ere.’

Anne put her arm round Sally’s shoulder. ‘We can’t stop going to work, or keep the children from school, or not have any fun, and just sit about waiting for the next raid, just because there’s a war on,’ she murmured. ‘If we do that, then we’re letting down all those brave boys who’re risking their lives for us.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘Like those pilots today. They knew what had to be done, and they did it with no thought for their own safety.’

‘I saw a poster today.’ Peggy put the kettle on the hob and rattled teacups. ‘It said something like, “Your Courage Will Bring Victory”, so that’s the attitude we’re going to have in this house,’ she said, with quiet determination. ‘No matter how bad it gets, or how frightened we are, we will keep our heads high, roll up our sleeves and keep going until this war is won.’

Sally nodded, calmer now. ‘I’m sorry for making such a fuss,’ she said, balling the handkerchief in her hands. ‘But Ernie’s all I got till Dad comes ’ome, and I promised I’d look after ’im.’ She looked at the two kind faces and felt the tears rise again. ‘I’m frightened,’ she whispered.

‘We all are,’ soothed Anne, ‘but there’s nothing like a nice cuppa to perk us all up. I don’t know about you, Sally, but I’m parched.’

Chapter Five

Ernie had helped Ron and the boys feed the animals, groom the dog and fetch fresh vegetables from the garden. He was still overexcited about the adventure of the day, and talked non-stop through tea until he abruptly fell asleep with his head resting on the table.

Sally had carried him upstairs, woken him enough to use the lavatory, and put him to bed, the towel firmly tucked beneath him. She returned downstairs to help clear the dishes and put the kitchen straight, but the trauma of the day had taken its toll and she’d gone to bed soon after, clutching Peggy’s spare alarm clock.

Sleep came swiftly, but it wasn’t restful. The possibility that Ernie might wet the bed again was always with her, and the knowledge she dared not oversleep because of work in the morning kept waking her. Yet even her dreams made her restless, for they were of enemy planes, of small boys lost in the wilds of the hills and of bullets whining and thudding all around her – but, most disturbing of all, were the dreams of strong arms holding her, and of a pair of laughing blue eyes that seemed to know her every thought.

When the alarm clock startled her awake, she lay for a moment, groggy from lack of a proper sleep and loath to leave the warmth and comfort of her bed. She’d been up with Ernie twice in the night to ensure his bed remained dry but, as she clambered reluctantly out of bed and checked on him, she felt the dampness and sighed with weary despair. She simply didn’t have the time or energy for this, but she supposed she should be thankful it was only the towel and his pyjama trousers she would have to wash this time.

Swiftly pulling on her clothes and brushing her hair, she carried him, protesting, down to the bathroom where she gave him a quick wash. While he dressed, she rinsed out the towel and the pyjama trousers. The radiator was hot, but she wouldn’t have dared to use it anyway. Peggy Reilly would take one look and know what had happened, and she couldn’t afford to upset her.

‘I’m hungry,’ he said, as she fixed his boot and calliper. ‘Can I go down and ’ave me breakfast?’

‘Are you sure you can manage?’

‘Course I can,’ he said indignantly. ‘I got me bum, ain’t I?’ He slid from the chair and made his way out of the bathroom and on to the landing, where he grabbed hold of the banister to help maintain his balance as he hobbled towards the stairs. With a wide grin, he sat and bumped and slid his way down.

Sally grinned back at him and, on hearing a door open nearby, hurried back to their room. With the towel and pyjama trousers draped over the top window, she closed it just enough to anchor them firmly, and pulled the curtains together to hide what she’d done. She just had to hope no-one from the house looked up from the pavement.

Deciding she should try and make a good impression on her first day, she changed into the pencil-slim skirt and white blouse she’d finished sewing two nights before she’d left London. The blouse had been made from an old tablecloth she’d found in Petticoat Lane. The body of the blouse was linen, hand-sewn with pin-tucks that emphasised her slender figure. From the sweetheart neckline, the rest of the blouse was lace, with tiny pearly buttons at wrist and throat, and a Peter Pan collar. The skirt was plain navy blue, cut from a dress her mother had discarded as too dowdy.

With a dark blue cardigan to keep her warm and protect the blouse, she parted her hair down the middle and anchored it with combs before eyeing her reflection in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. She looked very smart, but it was a shame about the shoes and socks – they didn’t look right at all, but as they were the only ones she had, they would have to do. Grabbing her coat and gas mask, she went downstairs.

Everyone else seemed to be having a Sunday morning lie-in, but Peggy was already eating breakfast when Sally sat down next to Ernie and tucked into the porridge and toast. She ate quickly, for it was after seven, and she had to be at the factory by eight fifteen.

‘I’ll be back around four,’ she said, when she’d finished. ‘Are you sure it’s all right to leave Ernie for so long?’

‘Of course it is,’ said Peggy, folding the newspaper. ‘We’ve already discussed what we will do, haven’t we, Ernie?’

Ernie nodded, looking a little uncertain. ‘I’m going to ’elp Mrs Reilly peel the veg and make the pastry for the rabbit pie. Then I got to wash me face and ’ands and get ready for church.’

‘Church?’ In Sally’s experience, church was for christenings, weddings and funerals. Poor Ernie.

‘That’s right. We always go to church on Sundays, and Father McCormack gives all the boys and girls a sweet if they’ve been good during the service.’

‘What kinda sweets?’ Ernie looked at her suspiciously.

‘Toffees, usually,’ she replied with a smile, before rising from the table. ‘I’ve made some sandwiches and a flask of tea for you to take with you, Sally. It’s only Spam, I’m afraid, but you’ve got to eat something.’

‘That’s ever so kind, Mrs Reilly, but I can last out till …’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said briskly. ‘You’re far too thin as it is, and I’m determined to get some flesh on those bones and some roses in your cheeks. There will be sandwiches and tea every day from now on – and I won’t have any arguments.’ As if to emphasise the point, she left the room.

Sally looked at Ernie, who licked porridge from his chin and grinned back at her. ‘She’s bossy, ain’t she?’ he said. ‘But I like ’er – a lot. She makes good porridge.’

It was another bitterly cold October morning, the sun only just emerging over the horizon to struggle against the thick, low cloud. The sea was as grey as the sky, and the gulls sounded mournful as they floated on the wind and called from the rooftops and lamp posts. But, despite the bank of cloud, the air was fresh and clean – unlike the thick, choking smog of London, where thousands of factory chimneys belched their filth over everything.

Sally had sponged off the worst of the damage to her coat and stitched the tear at the side so no-one would know it had ever been there. The handbag was beyond repair but, as she didn’t need it today, it didn’t matter – yet she mourned the loss of her pretty headscarf, and wondered if it had been blown out to sea, or was lying somewhere, trapped in a tangle of barbed wire.

Accepting that it was gone forever, and there was little she could do about it, she hitched the gas-mask box over her shoulder, and swung the string bag from her wrist, feeling the weight of the flask and packet of sandwiches. She usually had a crust of bread and cheese, and a cup of water from the street standpipe when she was at work, and although she’d eaten her fill at breakfast, she was looking forward to the luxury of Spam sandwiched between slices of soft, fresh bread.