War Babies (17 page)

‘Oh, at the top of a big hill, covered in grass,’ he said. ‘Somewhere like the Lickeys where you can look down – only higher. You can’t see out when you live in a
place like this. One day I want to climb a big mountain – the biggest I can find.’ He closed the book and put it in his pocket, as if the conversation was over.

‘So is Jess staying as well?’

Danny shrugged. ‘Depends.’

Gladys had written to Albert and Nancy and waited in trepidation for an answer. When it came, it was much warmer than she’d feared. At the time the family had two evacuees from
London’s East End living with them in Sutton Coldfield. It was not proving a success.

‘It sounds as if it’s driving them all round the bend,’ Gladys said, when the letter came.

Nancy had written:

It was true: the bombing had intensified and there had been some terrible raids. The sirens would often go off in the evening when they were eating. For Rachel this meant finishing off her tea
in the cellar. Danny, Gladys and the others ran round to the shelter at the back, or into the cellar of the wire-spinning works at the end of the yard. Even bombers that were not heading for
Birmingham often flew overhead, on their way to wreak havoc on Liverpool or some other city, and it was impossible to know whether it was their turn until they had passed over.

Everyone was getting more and more tired and living on their nerves.

‘These girls are in a bad enough state as it is,’ Gladys said. ‘I’m going to get them out of here.’

So Danny had said goodbye to his sisters again that morning, not knowing if or when he was going to see them again.

Now he stood up and came over to Rachel once she had her coat off and had laid it on a chair. He put his hands on her shoulders, looking for her to return his gaze. Their eyes met and she placed
her own palms lightly each side of his waist, feeling the warm hardness of his boy’s body. Man’s body, she thought. He’s a man now.

‘Give us a kiss,’ he said, with a half-begging smile. He seemed very raw in himself, and hungry for her to be close.

They cuddled, kissing and warming each other in silence for a while. Despite the sadness of it, both of them knew what this afternoon meant: for once, just for once, they had a little bit of
time by themselves.

‘Are you going to make me a cup of tea?’ Rachel said eventually. ‘I’m starving, I am.’

‘If you want. I thought you’d had dinner?’ Danny said, going to the range. He put the kettle over the fire.

‘I could still do with a cup of tea.’

He came back to her, taking her in his arms again. The kettle began to murmur. The air smelt of coal dust and something sweet, spicy and mouth-watering.

‘Has Auntie been baking?’ Rachel asked.

‘Yeah – she made buns to take over there. She left us a couple.’

They drank tea and ate the spicy buns at the table. Danny kept reaching over and stroking her hand. He seemed caught up in her, as if he could think of nothing else. Even when she told him
snippets of news, little things Cissy had done or that she had chatted about to Lilian who was once more bored to tears at work, he hardly seemed to be listening and hurried down his tea. He seemed
distracted and restless, one knee twitching up and down.

‘What’s up?’ she asked eventually, although she knew really. His family, or what was left of it, was being scattered once again.

‘Nothing.’ He gazed at her, then held his hand out. ‘Come here, to me.’ Pushing his chair back, he drew her towards him. She felt excited by his demand, as if something
new and more adult was happening between them. As she stood over him, he looked up at her and patted his leg. ‘Come and sit here.’

She settled on his lap, giggling, smoothing the skirt over her thighs. ‘God, Danny, d’you think the chair’ll stand it?’

Without answering, he buried his head against her and she cuddled him close, stroking his face. His hand moved up and down her back. He raised his head and his lips reached for hers.

They sat for some time, kissing, their exploring growing bolder. Rachel did not know, for sure, how this might continue. But she knew her body felt alive and more awake all over than ever
before, that each time Danny’s hand smoothed over her breasts she wanted the feel of it to go on and that there was a melting ache of longing between her legs. There were no words for it. She
could only follow the feelings, this being here with Danny, so close to him, his powerful need, and hers.

‘Come upstairs with me.’ He surfaced, looking at her, but he seemed half in a trance.

‘Upstairs?’

‘Yes . . . Yes . . .’ He took her hand again, leading her up the twist of the first staircase.

‘God, it’s dark up here,’ Rachel said at the top of the first flight of stairs.

‘I know,’ Danny said. ‘Auntie always keeps her door shut – she dain’t like anyone going in there.’ He pushed open the door of the other room where the girls
slept and they could suddenly see a bit better.

‘Why?’ Rachel asked.

‘I dunno,’ Danny said. ‘I s’pose she just likes to be a bit private.’ He was not interested in this conversation. With both hands on Rachel’s waist, he
steered her up the bare treads of the attic stairs.

There was a bed up there now, Danny’s single, black iron bedstead, a chest of drawers and chair and a bright peg rug on the floorboards. The light was cobweb grey and it was very cold
compared with downstairs, air seeming to force itself in around the windowpane. Rachel was already shivering.

Danny pulled her close. ‘I want to see you, Rach. I can’t think of anything else – please, let me. I need you . . .’

‘See me?’ she said, doubtful.

Danny made a gesture with one hand that took all of her in, top to toe. ‘See you – all of you.’

His eyes held an intense expression. She was astonished and gratified that she could make him feel so much, make him need her so much, it seemed, by just being there. She was full of tender
emotion, wanting to hold him and care for him. She barely understood where this was leading, except in the vaguest terms, but she felt she would do anything for him. Overcoming her misgivings she
gave a little nod of her head.

His trembling fingers were not used to the delicate buttons of her blouse and she had to help him. Danny undid his own shirt and slipped his hands in under the muslin grey of her blouse,
pressing their bodies together. She could smell him more strongly now, his salt-sweat, boy smell. She pushed back the shoulder of his shirt and kissed his bare arm, the rounded hill of muscle. But
she was beginning to shiver violently.

‘Come into bed.’ He pulled back the sheet and tan-coloured blanket.

The sheets felt icy on her skin at first. She stayed sitting up, pulling the bedclothes round her, only in her panties now, her hair tickling loose on her shoulders.

‘I wish we had a fire,’ she said, through chattering teeth.

Danny seemed not to notice. He was pulling off his clothes. He came and knelt on the bed, gazing at her. His fingers curled into the top of her panties and began to tug them down.

‘You’re so bloody lovely,’ he said. Then, in a tone not rough, but urgent, he said, ‘Lie back.’

And he fell forward into her embrace with a sound like a sob. Pure instinct made her raise her legs.

It was afterwards that she would always remember. The act itself was strange, his hardness jabbing his way into her, the burn of pain at first, before the feelings of pleasure
grew in her. She was moved by the urgent explosion of his pleasure. But then, as he surfaced, endearments tumbled from his lips, things she would never have thought of Danny saying: ‘I love
you . . . You’re my woman, my sweetheart . . . I need you. Nothing feels right without you.’ And he was soft and curled in her arms and she felt a melting love for him overwhelm her.
‘I’m frightened you’ll go – that one day you won’t be here,’ he said into her neck, as he lay in her arms. She held and stroked him. ‘I’m here,
Danny,’ she whispered, her own softness also taking her by surprise. ‘I love you like no one else. I’m not going away. You’re all I want in the world, my love. I just want
to be with you.’

He drew closer, holding her like something utterly precious, his hand on her belly. Rachel drew the covers closer around them like a warm cocoon. With one hand she ran her finger over the fair
trace of hair above his upper lip, her other trailing the strong runnel of his spine with her fingers. She shifted so that their eyes were level and they wrapped their gaze around each other.

‘I don’t want to go home,’ she said, nuzzling against him. ‘I don’t ever want to go anywhere ever again.’

‘Don’t then. Stay here.’

‘Don’t be daft – I’ve got to.’

‘I want you here.’ He looked seriously at her. ‘I feel safe with you, Rach. It feels as if you’ve always been here. You make life feel right.’

She kissed him. ‘So do you.’

‘What’ll we do?’

She drew back a fraction. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘To be together.’

‘Well . . .’ She giggled. ‘Danny, I’m only fifteen. Give us a chance. We shouldn’t be doing this, for a start.’ Only now was she realizing exactly what they
had done:
that
. The disgraceful ‘thing’ that was so forbidden, so shameful unless you were married. Panic rose in her at the thought. ‘What if anyone found
out?’

‘Sod ’em,’ Danny said.

‘Danny!’ She raised her head, indignant now. ‘You can’t just say that! As if no one else exists.’

‘They don’t,’ he said obstinately. ‘Not for me. Just you.’

‘And Auntie.’ She was about to add, ‘And Jess and Amy.’ But she lay down again. She could hardly preach to him. His sisters had gone and left him, hadn’t they?

He rolled over and looked down at her, kissing her lips, then her breasts. ‘All I know is, this has been the best afternoon of my life and . . .’ He paused. ‘Yep –
that’s all I know.’ He rested his head on her stomach and they lay quietly, until they grew so cold they had to get up.

All the way home she felt wrapped in the smell of him, the feel of him. She felt like a different person. She knew that she was promised to Danny Booker. And her mother did not even know he
existed.

The first time it happened was a December morning, after what had felt like an endlessly long night raid. Even in the safe haven of the cellar it was impossible to sleep, lying
there, listening to the thuds and bangs outside. As she set off for work, Rachel felt her nausea rise up and take over. She had to rush and gag over the gutter.

‘Been a bad night, ain’t it, bab?’ a woman said kindly as Rachel straightened up, groggy and embarrassed. ‘We’re all a bit churned up after that.’

It was the day the King came to Birmingham, to have a wander about and inspect the damage. Rachel had been awake almost all night – she thought her sickness was just because she was
exhausted.

The next day, she was standing on the Coventry Road waiting for the trolleybus. There was a cold wind blowing which seemed to bring the promise of snow. Her stomach already felt nasty and
acidic. As she stood there a man walked past, smoking. The drifting tang of the smoke caught in her nostrils and she felt suddenly very sick and had to breathe and swallow hard to try and stop it.
At home, the smells of stew and cabbage in the passage had the same effect.

I must be coming down with something, she thought. Either that or it’s all these nights up and down. It did not even occur to her what was really going on.

On Saturdays she still went with Gladys to the Rag Market. There were just the two of them again. Jess and Amy, on seeing Albert and Nancy’s place in Sutton Coldfield,
had immediately chosen to stay there. Rachel could see that Gladys was relieved, even though feeling that she had failed them. ‘They’re better off with Nancy,’ she said.
‘She’s a kind soul and I could see they felt a bit better as soon as they got there. Amy looked as if she was thawing out like a block of ice when she saw the garden and all the
trees.’

Even with the war on and the nights of bombing sapping everyone’s energy, all the people in the Rag Market tried to create a good atmosphere in the build-up to Christmas. As the afternoon
darkened outside, the lights came on and the barrows and racks and anything else that could have tinsel or holly twined round it was decorated.

That day was very cold, steam pluming from the horses’ nostrils outside and all the traders stamping their feet and wearing all possible layers of coats, scarves and shawls. Rachel had on
her grey coat and a navy felt beret she had bought from the market a few weeks before. Gladys had her shawl wrapped over her coat and a colourful scarf over her head, tied under her chin. A lady
had come to inspect some of the bed linen that Gladys had for sale. She had insisted on opening out all the sheets and pillowcases ‘to see they’re not full of holes’.

‘Well, that one was an old tartar,’ Gladys remarked, riled. ‘Thinking I’d try and palm off any old tat on ’er! Those sheets’re brand new! She never even
bought anything after all that. Fold ’em up tidy again, Rach, will you?’

Rachel started to sort out the tangle of bed linen. But the frowsty smell of clothing in the market which normally she hardly noticed, the smoke from cigarettes and fumes from passing traffic,
all seemed suddenly unbearable. As she stood up from picking up one of the sheets, she was suddenly overcome with heat. She was fighting to take off her wool scarf when she saw dots of light at the
edge of her vision.