Nan Barnes spread out her long arms and hugged Connie tight. She only realized there was a baby between them when she heard a gurgle at her breast. A big boned woman, tall and loud, her gasp was audible. ‘Blimey, look at this! Is it real?’
Connie nodded, trying to glance over her neighbour’s broad shoulder down the length of the street.
‘What is it, boy or girl?’
‘A boy.’
‘What’s his name?’
Connie hesitated. She hadn’t thought about his name, which posed somewhat of a problem. She couldn’t just refer to him as the baby all the time. ‘I don’t know, Nan. His home was bombed and he survived, but he was the only one in the house that did.’
‘Poor little beggar.’ Nan cooed at the baby, her big lips pursed together under her paisley headscarf. ‘Number fifty-six along the road copped a direct hit,’ she told Connie rapidly. ‘Luckily the Coles weren’t there, but staying with their relatives in Wales. Now, I saw yer Dad mending your door this morning, or at least attempting to. Tell him to give Lofty a shout if he wants any help. Ebbie ain’t exactly nimble with his fingers, is he?’
Connie was so relieved to hear her parents were safe that she ignored Nan’s tactless comments and hurried on. The Coles’ house was a terrible sight with its blackened rafters still smouldering and the debris spilling on to the pavement. But Mrs Spinks from next door waved from the upstairs window and seemed none the worse for wear.
‘Connie!’ yelled her dad, dropping his hammer on the floor with a clatter when he saw her. ‘Thank God you’re safe, love!’
She melted into his open arms. He hugged her, squashing the baby between them.
They were both tearful and Connie swallowed. ‘Oh, Dad, what a night! I’m so pleased to see you.’
‘Where have you been? You wasn’t in the Anderson when your mother got back from the shelter this morning. She thought you and Billy would be waiting for her.’
‘It’s a long story, Dad.’ She hoped that Billy would turn up quickly this morning and put everyone’s mind at rest.
Her dad lowered his bright blue eyes to the bundle she was carrying. ‘What, or rather who, is this?’
Connie placed the baby gently in her father’s arms. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when we go inside.’
Ebbie Marsh gazed down at the child in his arms. Connie watched in silence as her father bent his head, displaying a thick cluster of straw-coloured hair identical in colouring to her own. ‘My, my, there’s a big smile to brighten my day.’ He looked up at his daughter. ‘Your mother is going to be relieved to see you walk in that door, Con.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘Well, walk over it anyway.’
As Connie went in Olive Marsh raced out of the kitchen. ‘Constance! Where on earth have you been? I was so worried!’ As usual, her appearance was immaculate, Connie noted as she embraced her mother, hugging the slim, slightly stiff shoulders covered in a smart green blouse. Not a hair was out of place, the glossy brown pleat at the back of her head secured by an army of pins. ‘I would never have asked you to look for your brother if I’d known what was ahead of us.’
‘He’ll be home soon,’ Connie replied and, before her mother could ask more, she nodded to the bundle in her father’s arms. ‘Look what I found.’
‘A baby? You found a baby?’
‘Yes, a little boy.’
‘When? Where?’
‘Last night, as I was . . . er . . . looking for Billy,’ she fibbed. ‘Some houses had been hit in Haverick Street. I found this poor girl in the ruins, but she was trapped and before I could help her, she died.’
Olive gasped. Her father frowned. ‘And this baby survived?’
Connie nodded. ‘Goodness knows how. He was shut in a coal scuttle under a table. A warden came along and helped to dig him out. Well, he’s only a temporary warden, a boy I knew at school called Vic Champion. Luckily his gran lives just round the corner and we had to run with the baby and take shelter there. This morning Vic’s gran and his sister Pat gave me breakfast,’ she ended breathlessly.
‘Vic Champion?’ her father repeated. ‘I remember him! He stood out, that lad did. Smashing little footballer. Faster than all the rest of the lads put together. He could dribble a ball like no one’s business.’
‘Yes, yes,’ nodded his wife impatiently, ‘but what happened to your brother, Constance?’
‘You know our Billy, Mum.’ Connie shrugged lightly. ‘He was off with some pal when the warning went.’
‘I’ll bet it was with that Joey Donelly!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘Messing about on the river again. One day he’ll fall in, I know he will. I’ve forbidden him to go near those barges yet he still does exactly as he likes. Ebbie, you’re going to have to put your foot down with your son, and that’s a fact.’
‘Calm down now, love,’ her husband soothed. ‘It was pandemonium yesterday. None of us knew what we was doing, especially as you insisted on going to the public shelter when I’d set up the Anderson especially.’
‘That contraption is a death trap,’ Olive Marsh pronounced shortly. ‘How you can stand there and advise your family to use it, I really don’t know.’
‘Is there a cup of tea going?’ Connie broke in as she took the baby from her father. He gave her a wink.
‘Of course.’ Her mother nodded. ‘Go in the front room and sit yourself down. Dad’s made a fire and lit the paraffin stove. There’s a kettle on top of it, heating slowly, but it should be boiled soon. We’ve no gas and the water’s turned off, but I remembered to fill the kettle and two saucepans before I left yesterday.’ She frowned at the baby. ‘Does that poor child need feeding?’
Connie nodded. ‘I expect so. Vic’s sister, Pat, has a little girl called Doris and Pat gave me her bottle to use and some clothes to borrow. They’re all in this shopping basket.’
‘In that case, we’d better get cracking,’ Olive decided, taking Gran’s basket and hurrying off to the kitchen.
‘What are you going to do with the boy?’ Ebbie asked as he accompanied his daughter into the front room.
‘I don’t really know, Dad.’ Connie sank into the big fireside chair and was immediately enveloped by warmth. As one who was used to her full eight hours sleep, she was feeling the lack of it now. ‘I’ll have to ask Mum.’
‘Did you see what happened to the Coles’ house?’ her father asked as he sat on the couch and rolled a cigarette. ‘Lucky they were away.’
Connie nodded sadly. ‘There was a whole street sealed off as I walked home.’
‘Saint Cuthbert’s took one, you know.’
‘Oh dear. Whatever will the congregation do now?’
‘It’s anyone’s guess.’ He paused. ‘Nan Barnes told your mother the Islanders was bombed too. I shan’t be going down there for a quick one at the weekend, will I? And Surrey Docks was alight from end to end. The coast and the city took the brunt of the bombing this summer, but nothing like the inferno of the docks tonight.’ He inhaled deeply, lifting his head to blow out a slow stream of smoke. ‘Looks like we’re in for a repeat performance tonight.’
‘P’raps it won’t be as bad,’ Connie said optimistically.
Her father shook his head woefully. ‘You’d have thought the devils would have caught their breath after nabbing Poland, then invading France and her neighbours. But oh no, they annihilated us at Dunkirk, then gave our RAF lads hell in the air over Britain. Now we’re told to expect them on the beaches, or sailing up the river!’
‘We’d never let them land, Dad!’ Connie stared at her father, who looked very tired. Even his sprinkling of chocolate freckles did little to lift his fair, slightly grey skin.
‘No, we’d give them a run for their money, all right.’
Connie felt a shiver of dismay. Was there really a chance that Britain would be invaded? There were always threats and rumours abounding, but so many had been circulating since the beginning of war twelve months ago that the fear of invasion had receded. Now last night’s activity had changed the picture again.
‘Did you have a bad night, Dad?’
He nodded. ‘Couldn’t keep up with the fires. Those incendiaries were everywhere. The Luftwaffe just followed their path, dropping bombs all over the place, and the balloons never seemed to make a difference.’
Olive walked in and lowered a tray on to the table. ‘Drink up whilst it’s hot, you two, we can’t afford to waste tea, no matter how weak it is.’
Ebbie held out his arms. ‘Give him to me, Connie. I’ll hold whilst you pour, love.’
‘Don’t you go getting broody now,’ his wife warned him sternly. ‘You’re a pushover when it comes to kids. You’d have another one tomorrow if it was humanly possible.’
‘Yeah, well thank the Lord it’s not,’ he muttered as the baby brought up a loud burp, his bald head wobbling on his shoulders. ‘That’s it, kiddo, better up than down. Wish I could do the same, but I’d get a right chewing off if I did.’
‘Manners maketh man,’ Olive agreed swiftly. ‘Start as you mean to go on, that’s what my moth—’ Her mouth fell open as she stared at the door. ‘Billy! Oh my God, look at the state of you!’
Connie turned to see her brother framed in the doorway. His jacket and trousers were unrecognizable under the stains of what looked like oil and grease. His boots and socks were caked in mud, but he had a smile on his face that was dazzling.
‘Mrs Spinks said I could borrow this.’ Billy lifted a bucket, talking as if he was carrying on a conversation from five minutes ago. ‘She was up by the standpipe and said she thought I needed a wash more than she did.’
‘Too right you do, son.’ Ebbie nodded, wrinkling his nose at the smell drifting into the room.
‘You’re filthy,’ Olive wailed. ‘Oh, Billy, you’ve been on them barges, I knew it!’
Connie leaped up from her comfortable seat. ‘Don’t say a word,’ she whispered as she grabbed the bucket from his hand. ‘I’ll get him scrubbed up, Mum,’ she called brightly. ‘Keep the tea warm for us.’
Pulling Billy with her, Connie hurried to the downstairs bathroom. She blessed the day three years ago, when the council had seen fit to install one in the house. It was nothing fancy, but the large white bath and basin were accompanied by a real flushing system, not like the smelly old toilet they’d used for years in the backyard. The rabbit-sized rats that it attracted had overwhelmed the district and after an outbreak of several unpleasant diseases all the property maintained by the council had been converted. The bathroom was unheated, freezing in winter, and the iron window frames were already rusting. But it was the one room in the house that afforded a degree of privacy. Connie slid the bolt on the door as Billy began to peel off his clothes.
‘You gonna scrub me back, then?’ Billy laughed as she tipped the cold water in the basin
‘I just wanted to tell you what I said to Mum about last night,’ Connie replied crossly as she gathered the filthy garments.
‘What was that then?’ Billy sank his head into the water, splashing it noisily over himself.
‘I said you went off with a mate. She thinks you’ve been down the river on the barges with Joey Donelly. So I should keep to that story if I were you.’
‘Thanks, sis.’ Billy rubbed the bar of Puritan soap vigorously over his stick-like arms and skinny chest.
‘So what happened, then?’ Connie demanded, annoyed at his apparent indifference.
‘When?’
‘When do you think? When you ran off and left me.’
‘Con, I had to get rid of that motor.’
‘For your information I found a girl under all that rubble.’
He stopped drying himself on the thin towel and stared at her. ‘You mean there was someone there?’
‘She was . . .’ Connie felt tears rush to her eyes. ‘I couldn’t help her. It was too late . . .’
‘Oh, Con,’ Billy murmured, putting his wet arm around her. ‘I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have buggered off if I’d known that.’
Connie shook him off. She sniffed back the tears. ‘Well, excuse me, Billy Marsh, but I find that hard to believe. Thanks to you, her baby could have been overlooked. If it hadn’t been for a friend of mine helping me to search, he’d probably be dead by now too.’
‘You mean little Baldy sitting on Dad’s lap? I wondered where it turned up from.’ Billy stood shivering in his underpants. ‘So who’s this friend of yours then?’
‘Just a friend, that’s all. Now, what happened to the car?’
‘I ditched it.’
‘But you can’t drive.’
‘That was the least of me worries. There was no one around so I let off the hand brake and pushed it to the first bit of high water I found. What happened next was the iffy part. Jerry suddenly appeared and the wharf went up like a powder keg. I was blown in the water, right on top of the car. Honest, Con, it was like a bog, all oil and burning wood, and it stank of petrol. That’s what you can smell on me clothes. Somehow I got myself out.’
‘Billy, you could have drowned.’
‘I know. I don’t mind admitting it was a close call. But I’m a lucky so and so, Con, you’ve said it yourself.’
She shook her head despairingly. ‘You’ll need all the luck going if Mum ever finds out.’
‘Well, she won’t, will she?’
Connie put her hands on her hips. ‘That depends on whether or not you behave yourself.’
‘Connie, I swear I’m not getting in no more trouble. Scout’s honour an’ all that.’
‘You wouldn’t know a scout if you saw one.’
His teeth chattered under his grin. ‘I’m bloody freezing, gel. Is the lecture over?’
‘Get upstairs and dress yourself. I’ll sort out your dirty clothes. And remember what I told Mum and Dad. You’ll have to fill in from there.’
‘You’re a smasher.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll bet that friend of yours thinks so too, don’t he?’
Before Connie could reply, he shot out of the door.
By the time she returned to the front room, Kevin was home. A fresh pot was brewed and thick slices of bread and dripping prepared. The family sat round the fire in the front room, with the baby, this time, on Kevin’s knee.
‘He’s a little cracker.’ Kevin’s broad-featured face broke into a smile as he bounced the baby up and down. ‘What’s his name?’
‘We don’t know,’ Connie said, refilling the mugs.
‘What about Baldy?’ Billy laughed.
‘Lucky,’ her dad suggested, puffing hard on his cigarette. ‘After what you told us about how he was found.’
‘Lucky’s not a proper name,’ Olive commented. ‘His relatives would have something to say about that.’
‘We won’t know who they are,’ Connie pointed out, ‘till Vic finds them.’
Kevin quirked an eyebrow. ‘Vic, eh?’
Connie rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you start.’
‘So you was with Sylvie last night, was you, bruv?’ Billy asked, and everyone stared at Kevin.
‘Well yes, sort of.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean? Was it just the two of you in the shelter?’ Olive asked directly.
‘No, Sylvie’s auntie and two cousins were with us.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’ Olive folded her arms. ‘Now, as we’re all back together again, we had better decide what to do tonight if those planes come back.’
‘Chances of another raid are strong.’ Ebbie nodded.
‘Then we’ll all go to the public shelter together.’
‘I’d rather stay here,’ Billy protested gloomily.
‘No you won’t, young man,’ his mother insisted. ‘You’ll come with me to Tiller Road. I like to be with other people, I feel safer.’
‘Why doesn’t Dad take you along, Mum? Me and the boys can stay here. After all, Dad got the Anderson all ready for us.’ Connie didn’t care for the small garden shelter, but it was preferable to a public one and would be bearable if her brothers were with her.
‘I’m going over to Sylvie’s shelter,’ Kevin objected, spoiling that particular plan.
‘Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not for it,’ Olive decided. ‘We’re a family and families stick together.’
Ebbie sighed, holding up his hands. ‘Tell you what, kids. Give Tiller Road a chance, for your mother’s sake. Then, if any of you have a serious objection on your stay there, we’ll give it serious consideration tomorrow.’
Reluctantly Kev nodded his approval as did Billy. None of them wanted to upset their mother. Connie gazed down at the baby. She didn’t like the thought of a public shelter at all. But she didn’t want to be left on her own either. Not that she would be if she stayed. She would have – Lucky! She looked at the baby’s smiling face. It was not just herself she had to consider now. She was in charge of another little soul, albeit temporarily.
Most of her friends from school had married, very often their first boyfriends. When invited round to their houses, she had wondered how they managed, kids and grown-ups alike all thrown together in a couple of rooms.
She would be nineteen next year and had no ring on her finger. Much to her mother’s dismay, she was determinedly pursuing a career. Hadn’t Mr Burns told her that she was indispensable? Dalton’s Import, Storage and Transport Services was a well-regarded name. She wanted a future without the threat of poverty that had blighted her own parents’ lives and those of nearly everyone else on the Isle of Dogs.
It might be a dream, but she would rather have a dream than a failure, where the glamour soon wore off and a girl was trapped for the rest of her life.
‘Connie?’ Her mother’s voice made her start.
‘Yes, Mum?’
‘That child’s going red in the face.’
‘What does that mean?’
The room erupted in laughter, followed by an awful pong.
There was no let up for the East End that night. The bombers returned, wave after wave, dropping their lethal cargoes over the docks. Connie had no chance to wash the baby properly or invent a crib. As the siren sounded the warning, the drone of aircraft followed.
‘Right, we make a dash for it, all together,’ Ebbie shouted and everyone dropped what they were doing. ‘Bring your gas masks and a blanket each, and, Connie, let me hold the baby whilst you get him ready.’
Ten minutes later, breathless and flushed, the Marshes were being herded like sheep into the public shelter in Tiller Road. Connie made up her mind as she was pushed and shoved and forced to create a shield around the baby with her arms that this would be her one and only night here. It was far worse than she had imagined. Not even the Anderson could be as bad as this. The crush of bodies, the lack of privacy and the unpleasant smells were enough to make her appreciate the shelter at home.
When the noise of the bombing became unbearable a man began to sing, or rather yell. Others chimed in. Connie knew people were terrified and were trying to cover their fear. But the nervous, false singing only made things worse. Squashed as they were on benches, chairs and mats on the ground, the shelter was starved of oxygen. She tried to feed Lucky from Doris’s bottle, but her hands jumped as the explosions shook the ground underneath them. All night, she rocked him or pressed him against her, trying to comfort him. Between Jerry and the internal unrest, morning couldn’t arrive too soon for Connie. When day broke, she was almost too exhausted to move.
‘You’ve got work at half past eight,’ Olive reminded her as they packed up their belongings and struggled into daylight. ‘What are you going to do with the child?’
Connie had been hoping her mother would volunteer her help. ‘I don’t know, Mum.’
‘Well, it’s obvious isn’t it? I’ll have to look after him. But you must ask Mr Burns for time off so that you can take him to the Welfare people tomorrow. I’m sorry, he’s a nice little chap, but he isn’t our responsibility. And anyway, I’m sure they’ll soon turn up a relative or two.’
The glimmer of hope that Connie had been cherishing now extinguished. Without her mother’s help, she couldn’t look after the baby. Her work came first.
The Marshes were silent as they turned the corner of Kettle Street. No one knew what they would find. But good news met them in the form of Nan, who was sweeping the glass and tiles from the pavement outside her house.
‘You’re back safely!’ she cried excitedly. ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to know we’re all in one piece. Our house, yours, the whole street.’
Connie saw the tears of relief glisten in her mother’s eyes. Even her brothers started running towards home, punching each other playfully as they went.
Number thirty-three was a welcome sight. Connie walked towards it, wondering how she was going to get through Monday when she felt so tired. More than anything she wanted to curl up in her nice warm bed and sleep. Her body felt battered, her neck and face stiff, her arms bruised where she’d held Lucky for so long. But she was still breathing and that was what counted.
An hour later, she was hurrying down Kettle Street, dressed in her working clothes. Her naturally wavy blond hair was drawn up at the sides and pinned in a neat roll over her forehead. The white blouse and skirt beneath her coat were regulation wear for the office and her shoes sturdy heeled brogues. The stockings that she had preserved so carefully were now past their prime, but Mr Burns held high standards of dress for his staff and Connie always made certain she observed them.
As she turned into Westferry Road, a tall figure hurried towards her. Vic Champion cut a handsome figure in daylight, his dark and now dustless hair slicked back across his head. His shoulders looked even wider under the smart, single-breasted, grey and tan checked overcoat.
‘Vic, what are you doing here?’
‘Looking for you. I’ve brought these.’ He handed her a brown paper parcel. ‘From Pat. The baby’s dry clothes.’
‘Oh, thanks, but I’m on my way to work. Mum’s looking after the baby today.’
He took her arm. ‘Where do you work?’
‘At Dalton’s, the transport people.’
‘My car’s round the corner. I’ll drive you there.’
‘You have a car?’
He nodded. ‘I don’t know for how much longer though. What with the petrol so short.’
A few minutes later, she was being chauffeured in a comfortable green Austin to her place of work. She hadn’t been in a car since her driving lessons last year. After Britain declared war on Germany, she had taken ten lessons with an elderly instructor from Poplar who offered his services free as a contribution to the war effort. Connie wanted to help her country if necessary, by enlisting, with driving as one of her skills. But Mr Burns had persuaded her out of it, remarking dryly that the work she was doing was more important, if a little less glamorous. And as there were very few cars on the roads due to the petrol rationing, it seemed to have been a pointless exercise.
Vic drove them through the cluttered streets, his big hands capably steering the vehicle. There were few other motorists about, mainly fire engines and their crews and lorries being piled high with debris. He made several detours as roads were too obstructed to pass. The East End was waking up to the next round of clearance, cleaning, and fighting innumerable fires.
‘Where do you work?’ she asked curiously.
‘Wapping, in the PLA offices. Have done since I left school. Dead boring really, but it pays well.’
‘That’s important,’ Connie acknowledged.
‘It’s a respectable job, as Gran would say. It was her who pushed me into it. She said it would be a waste to work on the merchant ships, which is what I wanted to do. Not that I hope to be there much longer. I’ve put in for the navy.’
‘Yes, Pat said.’ Connie frowned. ‘Have you always lived with your Gran?’
‘Since we were kids.’ He nodded. ‘Mum and Dad died when we were young.’
‘That must have been awful.’
‘It would have been without Gran. Which reminds me, I made enquiries at our post about the baby’s mother. The tenant of the house was a Miss Elsie Riding, an elderly spinster, who lived alone. She also died during that raid – her body was found quite close to the girl. As for the people in the house next door, luckily they evacuated last month. There was only one woman, a few doors along, who had noticed a young girl going in and out of Elsie’s. She didn’t know who she was. Apparently Elsie kept herself to herself.’
‘There must have been some identification. Everyone carries a bag, or papers of some kind.’
‘Nothing that our blokes have found yet.’
‘But who could she be, then?’
‘I’ll check the list each day. It’s updated after each raid, so someone of her description and the baby’s might turn up. How’s Laughing Boy, by the way?’
‘Dad suggested we call him Lucky and it’s sort of caught on.’ Connie smiled as Vic stopped the car outside Dalton’s. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
‘My pleasure.’ He grabbed her wrist as she went to get out. ‘Connie, are you free on Saturday?’
‘Why?’ she asked stupidly.
‘We could go for a drive.’ He laughed shyly. ‘Though with the raids as they are, I appear to be asking you out at the worst possible time in history.’
‘I’ve got to work in the morning,’ she said quietly.
‘The afternoon then. About two?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll wait on the corner.’
He was still smiling as he drove off, leaving Connie to wonder if he really had just asked her out on an official date.
The tall wooden gates of Dalton’s Import, Storage and Transport Services were still intact, as was the huge wharf-side warehouse behind them. The transport department where Connie worked was located to the rear and she hurried there eagerly amidst the early morning rush.
The faces that looked at one another held expressions of surprise and joy, as colleagues hugged, patted backs and even shook hands at the fact they were still alive. Amongst them was Connie’s best friend, Ada Freeman, a slim young woman with long auburn hair who pushed her way through the throng to grab Connie in a warm embrace.
They hugged and linked arms as they made their way to the shipping office. They had so much to tell one another that they didn’t at first see their boss, Alfred Burns, inspecting his watch.
‘Good morning, Connie . . . Ada.’ He nodded as they filed by, giving them a businesslike smile, as usual.
‘Good morning, Mr Burns,’ they chorused, also as usual.
‘A nice morning, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Mr Burns.’
‘Glad to see you in.’
It was not surprising to Connie that her manager’s last remark was his only concession to the previous thirty-six hours of high drama. Even the bombing had not altered his routine or the expression on his deadpan face. Short and dapper in his pinstriped suit and waistcoat, he kept his finger firmly on the pulse of the shipping office. Connie was thankful that her little world at work had not been disrupted, even by the Luftwaffe.
She wanted to tell Ada all about Vic and Lucky, but by the time they were sitting on their tall stools and facing their ledgers and typewriters on the narrow shelf they both worked on, Leonard English, the head clerk, was doing the rounds. After loudly allotting them their instructions for the day, he lowered his voice to a whisper.
‘Are you both all right?’
‘Yes, thanks, Len.’ Connie smiled as she opened her ledger, blowing away the dust that seemed to have covered the entire planet since the bombing began. ‘What about you and your mum?’
He gave a little shrug, his thin face and pale blue eyes wearing a perpetually hungry expression. Connie always felt he deserved a good meal. Len lived with his eccentric mother, who was now the topic of his conversation. ‘Mother didn’t approve of last night at all,’ he said soberly, as the girls tried not to laugh. ‘She’s thinking of complaining.’ He gave them a droll smile. ‘I told her to go ahead, I’d pay her ticket to Berlin. And you know what?’
‘What?’ both girls whispered.
‘She accepted.’
The giggles were rife as Mr Burns glanced up from his desk. ‘Everything all right over there, Mr English?’
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Burns.’ Len gave them a wink and said in an exaggerated voice, ‘We’ll get on with the processing of goods, Miss Freeman, Miss Marsh. The bargees will be assessing their loads before the weigh-in. We’ll carry on as normal and if there are any, er . . . disturbances, the cellars below are open to staff. Now, who is going down to meet the deliveries?’
‘It’s me this week, Mr English,’ Ada said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice that almost had Connie hooting again.
‘Very good.’ Len leaned over their ledgers in pretence of scrutiny. ‘See you girls in the canteen.’
When he had gone, Connie glanced at her friend sitting a few feet away. Ada was still trying not to laugh, her green eyes sparkling as she kept her hand over her mouth. Connie did the same and looked away. Exhaustion, relief, disorientation and fear were to blame for their heightened states, and in Connie’s case a tingling anticipation of Saturday.
At one o’clock, she and Ada made their way to the canteen. Len was waiting for them. Over hot mugs of tea and slightly stale spam sandwiches, they swapped tales of the last two unbelievable days. Connie’s discovery of Lucky and the night spent under the stairs in Gran’s cupboard was enough to make Ada’s eyes pop out from their sockets. Len said the drama quite eclipsed his own. The one story Connie didn’t relate, though, was of Billy and the burglary. Even to Connie, the incident was beginning to fade into realms of fantasy.
Just after lunch, Mr Burns instructed them to pack away their books. ‘Due to unforeseen circumstances,’ he explained briefly, ‘we are closing early. The time lost will be made up by arrival at work in the morning and every day thereafter for two weeks, at eight o’clock prompt.’
‘I saw some official-looking bods arriving in a big black jam jar,’ Len whispered as Connie and Ada completed their work and closed their ledgers. ‘I’ll bet it’s to do with them.’
‘What could they want?’ Connie wondered aloud.
‘I’ve a feeling we’ll all find out soon enough,’ Len said nervously.
‘And why should we have to come in early for two weeks?’ Ada demanded as they went to put on their coats.
‘I’ve never known Mr Burns to let us off early before, not even in the summer when the city was bombed,’ Connie agreed as they hurried to the gates.
‘Yeah, but our planes were giving Jerry a run for their money then. Last night it was all one way, and sadly not ours.’
‘Look after yourself,’ Connie said as the two girls stood together in the mild September afternoon. ‘Will you be seeing Wally?’
‘We only met for half an hour yesterday because I had to help Mum with me three younger sisters. I gotta see him tonight or I’ll bust,’ Ada sighed bleakly. ‘We can’t even kiss without Dad breathing down our necks lately, let alone have a bit of how’s your father. What about your new bloke?’
‘He’s not my bloke, Ada. I told you, he was at British Street School with us.’
‘Well, I don’t remember him.’
‘You wouldn’t. He wasn’t your type.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Only that he was in the football team and older than us. You never watched any of the matches. You was always hanging round the bike sheds having a fag when they were on.’
‘S’pose I was. But you’re seeing him on Saturday, aren’t you? What’s that if it not going out with someone?’
Connie smiled. ‘It’s certainly not a bit of how’s your father.’
‘You’ll never know till you try it,’ Ada responded with a wink. ‘And in my opinion it’s the best thing since fried bread. And I’d eat it every day if I could. Fried bread, I mean.’
Connie gasped. ‘Ada Freeman, you be careful!’
Ada grinned, tossing back her red hair. ‘I want a bit of fun whilst I’m young enough to enjoy it.’
‘Just as long as it’s fun you want and not babies,’ Connie warned.
‘Hark at you,’ her friend cried as she took her leave, ‘you’re looking after a kid and you haven’t had any fun getting it. T’ra now. See you at eight o’ clock tomorrow morning!’
Connie watched Ada’s little bottom under her raincoat wiggle off into the distance. Trust Ada to put the situation into perspective. But she was wrong on one count. She hadn’t had fun in finding Lucky, it had been a traumatic experience all round. But from the moment the baby smiled at her, something inside her had changed. Added to this was the appearance of Vic, who today she had spent a good deal of time thinking about.
If only she could keep Lucky a little longer! Then Connie had an idea. Perhaps he had won over her mother’s heart, just as he had hers. Perhaps her mum would be holding him tenderly in her arms, an entranced smile on her face.
‘Constance, we’ll manage him somehow,’ she would say.
Almost breaking into a run, Connie set off for home. Her heart was much lighter than it had been at the beginning of the day.