Together for Christmas (28 page)

‘And no doubt you’re always at his side.’

‘I don’t mind.’

Mrs Bell began to fry the minced meat. She thrust it around in the pan with onion and carrots. ‘This will make a nice broth. I like a change from soup occasionally. Now, how is that
soldier of yours?’

Flora felt her face flush. ‘He doesn’t come for treatment now.’

‘Is he better, then?’

‘No.’

‘Well, the doctor can’t cure everyone. Now, add the stock and vegetables, dear. Later I’ll pop in a dumpling or three.’

As they worked, Mrs Bell forgot about Michael and began to repeat again what the ‘lost souls’, as she called them, had told her in the soup kitchen. ‘The women are wives and
mothers, nurses and breadwinners all rolled into one. Their heart-rending stories are endless! There’s one poor wretch who has to look after her father, husband and brother. Now, if
that’s not a cross to carry, I don’t know what is.’

Flora listened sympathetically. She knew that, in a strange way, the war had put an end to Mrs Bell’s loneliness. The lost souls of the soup kitchen had become her family.

‘Just you watch out for them Zeppelins,’ Mrs Bell warned her as she left that evening. ‘You never know when one’s flying over.’

Flora looked up into the dusky August sky, which glowed in the east with a fiery scarlet sunset. Michael had once told her that although the Zeppelins were frightening, they were often blown off
course by high winds. They were also difficult to control and their crews inexperienced. Many airships had crashed, he assured her, and others had been lost in uncharted territory. They had talked
about so many things . . . shared so many confidences.

Flora tried to stop her thoughts from wandering. Her memories of Michael were happy but they always left her feeling blue.

It was after a particularly busy Thursday surgery that Flora found the doctor had fallen asleep at his desk. His head was bent low and the pen had dropped from his hand.

‘Dr Tapper?’

He roused and blinked. ‘Oh, it’s you, Flora.’

‘Shall I close the doors?’

‘No, I have to call on Mrs Benson with Archie’s medicine,’ he said, standing up slowly and pushing his hand through his dishevelled grey hair.

‘I’ll take it,’ Flora offered, as he looked very tired.

‘Please make sure Mrs Benson is following the directions I left with her. This sedative is strong and must be used with care.’

Flora assured him she would and half an hour later she set out for Poplar. The evening had turned cooler and as she walked she heard a distant rumble of thunder. Dr Tapper had warned her that
Archie was still waiting to be seen by the hospital doctors and until then he must take the potassium salt sedatives he had prescribed.

‘Oh, thank goodness you’ve come,’ Mrs Benson said when Flora arrived. ‘My Archie is in a terrible state. That’s why I couldn’t come to the surgery. I
daren’t leave him.’

‘What happened?’ Flora couldn’t see Archie sitting in his usual chair.

‘There was a loud noise in the street. It was from one of them new-fangled motor cars. Archie went wild, shouting “bombs” and ran upstairs, shutting himself in his room.’
She blinked and looked at Flora as if seeing her for the first time. ‘But where’s Dr Tapper?’

‘He couldn’t come tonight.’

‘What are we going to do, then? Archie won’t listen to me and I doubt he will take any notice of you. He seems to have gone crazy.’

‘Has he had his medicine?’

‘No, I ran out of it.’ Mrs Benson’s pale, thin face flushed and she looked away. ‘I thought a bit extra at night would make him sleep.’

‘The doctor writes the instructions on the packet. You must keep to the dose.’

‘Yes, but I needed to sleep too.’

Flora took the small packet of salts from her bag. ‘Go and mix the right amount with water and bring it up to Archie’s room.’

Mrs Benson took the packet and rushed away to the kitchen.

Flora climbed the narrow staircase. The only light was from an oil lamp on a small table. She passed an empty bedroom and went to the next. Knocking softly on the closed door, she waited. When
there was no reply she took the oil lamp and turned the handle. The room was in turmoil. Clothes and books were strewn everywhere. Behind the bed, a shaven head poked up. ‘What do you
want?’ Archie whimpered. ‘Have you found the bomb?’

‘There isn’t one, Archie.’ Flora stepped inside.

‘There is. They’ve hidden it.’

‘Shall I look?’ Flora knew she had to win his trust. ‘I can see better than you by the light of the lamp.’

Flora heard Archie scramble under the bed. She lowered the lamp to the bedside table, then folded the clothes back into their drawers. After arranging the books back on the shelves, she looked
under the bed.

‘There’s no bombs, Archie. It’s safe to come out.’

‘I don’t want to die.’

‘You won’t die. Take my hand and I’ll help you.’

Slowly, Archie crawled out. He was holding Flora’s hand so tightly that she could feel his thin bones creak between her fingers.

Mrs Benson came into the room with Archie’s medicine and he drank it noisily. ‘My poor boy,’ she sighed heavily, wiping her hand over her tired face. ‘If only I was a bit
younger and your father still alive.’

‘When did you become a widow, Mrs Benson?’ Flora asked in concern.

‘When Archie was three. I’ve brought him up on me own and it’s been hard. My husband was much older than me, near to twenty years. We never thought we could have children.
Then, when I was forty, I discovered I was having a baby. It was a difficult birth and nearly killed us both. Archie only knew his dad for a short while and now I’m gone sixty, still trying
to make ends meet and look after my son at the same time. I’m at the end of me tether.’

‘You must try to rest,’ Flora told her gently. ‘Go downstairs and I’ll see to Archie.’

After Mrs Benson had gone, Flora washed Archie with cold water from the china bowl standing on the marble-topped wash stand. She was relieved to discover that his wound had almost healed and did
not need attention. Finally, she helped him to put on clean pyjamas.

‘Are you feeling better now?’ she asked as he sat on the bed.

‘I ain’t got the shakes.’

‘And you look very nice after your wash.’

For the first time, Archie smiled. It was only a shaky grin, as the sedative began to take effect.

‘Tomorrow, you must try to wash and dress yourself. I’ll hang your clothes over the chair.’ Flora took a white shirt and pair of trousers from the wardrobe. ‘Do you think
you can do that, Archie?’

Archie nodded, though his gaze seemed vacant.

‘Now, here’s your dressing gown. We’ll go down to the kitchen for something to eat.’ Flora fastened the dressing-gown cord around his thin waist.

As she did so, Flora was thinking, and not for the first time, that a return to normal life for Archie and his mother would be difficult. Caring for an invalid in Archie’s condition would
be exhausting. She hoped that with Archie taking the proper doses of his medicine, he would soon be able to help himself.

‘Eat up,’ Flora encouraged, when Archie was seated at the kitchen table. ‘Your mother made you this broth.’

Flora was pleased to see that Archie gulped it down quickly and showed no loss of appetite. He had suffered under the heavy doses that Mrs Benson had mistakenly given him in her effort to get
him to sleep. Then when the medicine had stopped abruptly, he had suffered a withdrawal. Now he seemed to be enjoying the nourishing liquid and the thick slices of bread that his mother had
prepared. He also responded to Flora’s questions with fairly normal answers. Flora was also very pleased to hear the soft snores of Mrs Benson from the front room.

‘Is me mum all right?’ Archie asked as he ate.

‘Yes, but she is very tired and needs her rest.’

‘She ain’t gonna die?’

‘No. But if you can do a little more to help yourself, she won’t get so tired.’

‘What about me shakes?’

‘They will get better if you take your medicine regularly.’ The doctor had assured Flora that the potassium bromide, if taken correctly, would keep Archie’s hysteria at
bay.

‘Will the bombs come back?’ Archie asked between mouthfuls.

‘No. This is England, Archie, not France.’

‘I forgot. Me ma told me that too.’

‘Have you finished your supper?’

He nodded, giving her another shaky grin. He sat like a little boy at the table, his shoulder bones poking out from under his dressing gown and his dark eyes sunken in his thin face. Every now
and then he would twitch or shake, making a soft noise as he did so.

‘We’ll go and sit down in the parlour. But be quiet so we don’t wake your mother.’ Flora didn’t help him to walk this time. He pushed his chair back and Flora
followed him into the parlour.

‘You won’t need that now.’ Flora took away the stick by the hearth and stored it in the cupboard under the stairs.

As she did so, her thoughts went to Michael. Would he ever be able to walk without his cane? It was a question even the doctor couldn’t answer.

Mrs Benson awoke at eleven o’clock. ‘Why, bless me, you’re up and about, Archie,’ she said dreamily as she looked across at her son, who was sitting in
his chair.

‘I’m gonna dress meself tomorrow.’

‘Archie’s a little better,’ Flora confirmed as she picked up her basket. She had swept the parlour floor and cleaned the surfaces of the kitchen with Sunlight soap, leaving the
air smelling sweetly. ‘His leg wound has healed. Archie won’t need his stick now.’

Mrs Benson wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘You’ve been very kind.’

Flora nodded to the unlit candle in its holder. ‘To help your son sleep soundly, mould a little warm candle wax into his ears before he goes to bed.’

‘Thank you. I’ll try to remember.’

The streets were very dark and gloomy as Flora left. The taverns had all turned out and Westferry Road was hidden in shadows. A solitary cart trundled past her, its Tilley lamps swinging from
the tailgate. She was thinking about the Bensons when suddenly the sky lit up. Long beams of light pierced the darkness, as she had once seen before when the Zeppelins flew over the East End. A
thunder in the distance caused Flora to stop still.

People opened their front doors and ran into the street. ‘It must be the Zeppelins,’ a man yelled. ‘Our guns are trying to shoot them down.’

Flora watched the panic begin. People filled the street and looked up. She, too, searched the sky for the flying airships that she had never seen, but had heard some of the patients describe.
She felt both frightened and excited at the same time. Another horse-drawn cart pulled up next to the first one. A man jumped off a bicycle and joined the crowd of onlookers.

The distant rumble of guns became sharper. Still nothing happened. No one seemed to know what to do or where to go.

Flora wondered if she should run. But where to? It might be dangerous. The Zeppelins carried bombs and dropped them indiscriminately. She could see nothing above, only the lights in the sky.
They were beginning to make her feel dizzy.

Then suddenly it appeared. A cigar-shaped balloon so immense that its underbelly filled her whole vision. The vast, floating cylinder had tapered ends and fins attached to its sides. The
Zeppelin seemed to glow in the searchlights. Then, without warning, a terrible bang, then another, caused Flora to run. She didn’t know where she was going. She was running because there
seemed nothing else to do. Her heart beat faster and faster. The strength washed out from her legs.

When she fell, she thought of all the soldiers in the mud-filled trenches. She understood the terror they must have felt as they tried to escape the poison gases. As she lay helplessly in the
road, the Zeppelin came closer and trapped her in its great shadow.

Michael stood on the surgery steps, leaning heavily on his cane. He had tried downstairs at the airey first, but no lights were on. He had to warn Flora and the doctor: the
Zeppelins had reached England. A policeman had told him that coastal alerts had warned the city police that the Zeppelins were flying above low cloud and headed for the East End.

Michael knocked on the surgery door again. A few minutes later, it opened.

‘Michael, is that you?’ Dr Tapper peered out into the darkness. He was still dressed, but he looked as though he had been sleeping.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour.’

‘Is something wrong?’

‘I couldn’t get a reply from the airey.’

Dr Tapper pushed back his thick grey hair and stepped out. ‘Flora went to visit a patient for me.’

‘Should she be back by now?’

The doctor nodded slowly. He was looking tired and bewildered. ‘Yes . . . yes, she should. Something must have happened to delay her.’

‘I have it on good authority that the Zeppelins are flying over the East End. I was on my way back from the city and several roads were shut off. A policeman explained that the
anti-aircraft were about to operate in—’

Just then, they heard gunfire. Then a loud bang, and another that shook the street. Michael took the doctor’s arm, ‘I advise you to take cover, sir.’

‘But Flora—’

‘Give me the patient’s address and I’ll find her.’

After memorizing it, Michael urged the doctor back inside. ‘Extinguish your lamps,’ he advised hurriedly.

‘The airships will aim for the docks to release their bombs.’

The doctor nodded in silence. Michael knew he was worried, not for himself but for Flora.

Limping down the steps to the street, Michael cursed the injury that had caused him to become so ineffective. He was a soldier, a man of action. And look at him now. He could not challenge a
child to a race. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of this wretched implement that, if he had his way, he would break in half.

As he drove away, there was gunfire. The sound it made returned him to the battlefields of Gallipoli in spring of last year. The brave but small force of Anzac and French troops, accompanied by
the British, were caught under the heavy fire of the Ottoman forts. The Allied battleships and cruisers had disappeared from the blue horizon of the Sea of Marmara. The beach was scattered with
bodies and men had fallen into the dunes cleverly laced with barbed wire. Michael saw the white sandy hill before him and signalled to the remainder of his men to follow. He blinked hard, trying to
erase the memory. Still, it wouldn’t leave him. He was no longer driving the car, but scrambling upward, the sound of enemy fire loud in his ears. He found a foothold in the cliff face and
hauled himself up, the sand running through his fingers. His equipment and backpack felt a ton weight in the burning heat. He could hear the cries of dying men as they called out for help. He
turned to the young infantry soldier at his side and waved him on. Then there was an explosion . . . a deafening crescendo, splitting his eardrums that hurled him to panic, towards the barren green
flatness of the hilltop.