‘Where’ve you been? I thought you’d run away with the coal man,’ whispered Walter as he pecked Lily on the cheek. ‘And what’s all this about Freddie’s wife and kiddy? I never knew he were wed.’
The jungle drums were at work already. Lily sighed as she struggled to bring in the washing from the line in the back yard of his house in Bowker’s Row. It was starting to rain and his mother was dozing in the leather armchair, blissfully unaware. There would be just time to iron Walt a clean shirt and unpack the shopping she had brought before they must set off for the memorial service.
‘We’ve not seen much of you these last weeks,’ yawned Elsie Platt, rubbing her striped brown slippers with holes cut out to accommodate her bunions. Her bulk was wired tightly, like an overstuffed mattress, into a black funeral outfit. A winter coat lay over the back of the chair with a fur tippet and black felt hat. Elsie loved a good funeral tea and a chance to give Waverley House the onceover.
‘Levi says it’s the talk of the Coach and Horses about the foreign girls who turned up at your place. Why am I the last to know anything?’ Walter sniffed, standing over her while she plugged the iron into the lampshade.
‘What’s wrong with the shirt he’s wearing, Lil? It was clean on yesterday,’ Elsie snapped.
It was hard to explain that a clean shirt and cuffs were important when the whole family was on show. Sometimes after a day on the stall and a night in Yates Wine Lodge, Walt was not as Lifebuoy fresh as he ought to be, poor lamb. She blamed Elsie, whose idea of housework was just to keep the smells down in the two up, two down terraced house. That inbred Lancashire pride in being spick and span with bright white nets, donkey-stoned steps and starched washing had somehow passed her by.
The Platts’ weekly wash was a steeping of smalls in the sink and hung out overnight, where it gathered sooty smuts, unless Lily took them back home herself. It wasn’t as if Walt’s mother had anyone else to look after, but it took all sorts, Lily supposed.
The Winstanleys would only pick holes in Walt’s appearance if he turned up shabby. They all needed to put on a united front on this sad occasion. She wanted no more sly digs about his appearance.
‘What’s all this about your Freddie? What’s the sly beggar been up to? I hear there’s nappies on your washing line?’ Elsie sniggered.
‘You’d think folk had nothing better to do than to count washing. It’s a long story and we’ve not time to be gossiping when there’s a service to be going to. I’ve brought the van to give you both a lift.’
‘His back won’t stand it in the rear of that, dear. You’d better take me and return for him later,’ said Elsie, rising to don her outdoor finery. ‘Will there be a collection? It’ll have to be a widow’s mite from me. You know how we are placed.’
‘I expect so, but don’t worry about it. You’ll have to make do as best you can with one trip, though. It’s not far and I’m running out of time.’
Did they think she was a taxi service and a laundry maid? There were a hundred jobs on her list and no time to get dressed properly. They were lucky that guilt at neglecting Walt had made her come early to sort them out. He was hopeless without her chivvying him up. That was one of the things she loved about him. He needed her.
When they arrived at Waverley House there was another fuss going on.
‘They’re not going dressed like that?’ Ivy stared at these new upstarts. She was bedecked in a dark suit with a fox fur draped over her shoulders. ‘Here, I found some mittens for them to cover their fingers. It’s chilly outside. I hope there’s a good turnout. We don’t want these two showing us up, do we?’
This was not a fashion parade or a celebration, thought Lily with only five minutes to tear off her old clothes and put on her winter best frock and tired coat. There was no time even to powder her nose. Usually Ivy would have nothing to do with Ana and Susan, sniffing down her nose every time they came in a room, and the offer of a pair of knitted gloves each was only so they could hide their ringless fingers from view.
The family assembled outside the house for the short walk to Zion Chapel, ambling slowly, flanking the two strangers on all sides to keep them out of view. There was a goodly crowd gathered by the church steps, waiting for the family to process in.
It was left to Lily to kit out Ana and Susan for church with warm coats and hats, stockings and suitable underwear for the chilly climate. They had no coupons for anything new.
Susan was so tiny she fitted into Lily’s old school gaberdine mac with a lined hood. Ana was wrapped in Grandma Crompton’s old fur coat, which hardly fitted across her swollen bust. But winter was coming early this year. They would not look out of place all muffled up.
Lily held little Joy’s hand as she struggled on the slippery pavement in her pixie hood and warm gaiters. Word was out about the strangers at Waverley House pushing a pram. It did cross her mind that half the crowd might be gathered today just to ogle. Esme covered her black hat with net veiling to hide her grief and her confusion. She was very quiet, too quiet, and Lily wondered how they would get through the service without someone breaking down. There was nothing to do but brazen it out.
‘You’ve heard about our big surprise then?’ Lily smiled up at neighbours, trying to look casual, hoping they wouldn’t notice how her voice was quaking.
‘It’s all round the Coach and Horses that young Freddie left his mark in Burma,’ whispered Doris Pickvance.
‘Then they were wrong as usual!’ Lily whispered back.
Bar-stool gossip could be so crude. Lily’s heart began to thud. What if everyone thought Su was Freddie’s wife? How could they pass Anastasia off as his bride instead? Perhaps they should change them round again. All this lying was hard work, so many pitfalls and tracks to cover over. Perhaps it was better to tell the plain truth.
All eyes were on the two strangers as they were led down a side aisle into a series of boxed cupboard pews. The mourners were put at the front in full view, waiting in silence until Reverend Atkinson, wearing his black gown, stood before the assembled family to welcome them and began the special service with the hymn ‘I vow to thee my country’.
Lily felt herself choking up. The tune brought back memories of schooldays. Why did she suddenly think of Pamela Pickvance and the ice slide?
It wasn’t that Pam was always horrid to her, it was just that she couldn’t rely on her as a friend. One minute she was all over her like a rash and then she ran off and ganged up with girls in the playground, pulling faces and calling her names.
Pam across the road was in the top class and ‘bonny’, which was a polite way of saying ‘fat’, round as a barrel with a nip on her like pincers. Her brother was even bigger and when the two of them stopped her on the way home to snatch her bus money, it made for a long walk on a wet night.
Funny how she would hand it over without a fight until Freddie started in the infants’ and she had to drag him along into the infants’ playground. Pam and Alf would wait until she had shoved him in the yard, then pounce. If she’d spent her pennies, they pulled off her ribbons and that meant bother at home. Mother thought she was careless and made her pay for some more. There was no point in telling tales when they lived across the road. She just put up with it hoping their bullying would go away.
Then came the bad snow and a chance to make an ice slide on the pavement, sliding down until it shone like glass. Pam and Alf started shoving her off, making her legs go sideways out onto the road. That was scary and she cried in front of them.
Freddie was watching, open-mouthed, seeing his sister sobbing, and suddenly he rushed at Pam and knocked her over. He pulled her by her pigtails until she screamed and when her big brother came to the rescue, he kicked him in the shins.
The scrap that followed was like Goliath beating the hell out of David until he had a busted lip and a bloody nose and his new winter coat was torn.
‘You lay off my sister or I’ll shove you down!’ Freddie snorted.
‘You and whose army?’ sneered Alf Pickvance.
‘I’ll get my big brother on you and he’s got boxing gloves and we’ll come and get you.’
‘Oh, yes,’ snivelled Pam, a hole in her lisle stockings. ‘I’m telling on you!’
Doris was round next morning complaining that her darling Pam had been set upon by Winstanley ruffians, and what was Esme going to do about it?
Esme rose to her full height with an icy smile. ‘What happens in the street between children is not our affair. My children don’t fight unless provoked…Thank you and good day!’ She slammed the door in Doris’s face and turned her fury on her own.
Lily was sent to her room. Freddie got his bottom paddled, but neither broke their vow of silence, their omertà: All for one and one for all.
Funny thing was, Pam was as nice as pie after that, and Alf gave them a wide berth. It was then that Lily realised that having two brothers had its advantages. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for them then.
Lily buried her nose in her handkerchief. She could still see Freddie as a little lad, not a grown man. In six years all she had of him were a bunch of letters full of jokes and pleasantries, she sighed. They knew nothing of his real life, his war, his lovers, nothing about the real Freddie. He was a stranger.
Both her brothers were strangers and that was what war had done to this family: torn them apart. In truth she’d lost Freddie years ago.
This can’t be a real church, thought Ana as she stared around the bare walls as they were escorted down a side aisle into a series of boxed cupboard pews. The mourners sat in silence until a man in a suit and teacher’s gown stood before the Winstanley family and began the service.
To her a church was the very soul of a place, set high on a hill or in the market square, painted white, shining in the sunlight, not tucked up in some grimy street like a factory, she mused. Where was the rainbow of colours: ochre, crimson, azure wall paintings? Where were the bells, candlelight and smell of incense?
The walls of Zion Chapel were painted white, the woodwork was dark oak polished to a mirror finish. There were no flowers, no silken robes and vestments, shimmering purples and crimson velvets, embroidered with silver and gold threads, no wall hangings and frescoes, nothing on which to rest her sad eyes for comfort. Where were the scenes from the Gospels, painted between the windows and the walls, by monks centuries ago, some depicting the miracles wrought by St Andreas, Archbishop of Crete? Did Grimbleton not have its own patron saint to adorn with jewels and gold leaf?
She looked up to the wooden rafters holding the ceiling. Where was the risen Christ in glory arching over the cupola in mosaic tiles glistening gold and silver and sapphire in the heavens?
There was nowhere to light a sacred candle of intercession for Freddie. She could not hate him for his weakness. He was a man and men had needs. He brought her back to life after years of darkness. He was her candle of light and she wept that their time together had been so short.
There were no jewelled icons to pray before, hanging with silver tamata, those precious votive offerings, flowers, silver templates with eyes and legs and bodies, offered for a cure. There was no cure for death, only the resurrection in the fullness of time.
She did not understand this English plainness. How could anyone find comfort in such stark surroundings? It felt an insult to all that was holy in her heart. Freddie would not rest in peace until she had found a proper church and lit candles and all the rituals were performed.
She was weeping not for her loss now but for herself and memories of the little white chapel of St Dionysius, the patron saint of her village, weeping for the comfort of familiar faces processing to the great Easter ceremonies and Christmas festival, weeping an exile’s tears. There was no going back now.
There was such a silence, no weeping and wailing of death songs, no mother and black-clad widows keening. The sounds of grief could purge away suffering. Her family had kneeled prostrate over her sister’s grave, wailing in agony, only to rise and prepare a meal for the living family as if that beautiful girl was not in the graveyard.
Eleni was the first of many deaths in their village, the year the Germans came from the sky, floating down into their olive groves. But no, she could not think of all that again.
They were singing hymns now, ones she could not understand, and there were words, so many words. There was no ceremony in this memorial. There was no body to wash with wine and rosewater, no linen to bind up, no body to bury. How could you lay to rest a man who was not there?
She twisted the brass ring around her wedding finger. It was loose. What would a real priest make of these lies? Susan Brown was sitting in front, prim with her straw hat bound with black ribbon, her luscious coil of hair constrained in a hairnet. She was used to English worship. She was wearing her gold earrings, showing them off for all to see.
Ana sensed there were curious eyes in the congregation, wondering just who these strangers were. There would be more stories to make up when they went back home for the funeral tea and guests sidled up to her with polite questions about her connection to the family.
I will never get used to this chilly air, she sighed, the dampness of the rooms, the smells of soot and smoke and burning rubber, or people with faces like doughy white bread rolls. You made your bed, now you must lie on it, she thought. There is no other way, sigara, sigara… take it easy.
However many layers she borrowed from Lily she could not keep warm. It was as if a mist of forgetfulness and lethargy clouded all her resolve and energy, sapping her hope away. Only Dina gave her a reason to rise each morning to do all the chores her mother-in-law insisted they divide between them. They must earn their board and lodgings until they had achieved their independence from the Winstanleys.
They had been taken down to the town hall, a soot-black building like a Greek temple, where she had to sit in a long queue for hours with Dina, waiting to register as a refugee with child. It was all papers to sign in a language she couldn’t read very well, but Lily tried to explain why she must do this.
It felt wrong to be sitting in her best clothes, not in black widow’s weeds. Black and grey were the colours of this drab town. What on earth was she doing here?
There were other queues she must stand in to register for identity papers, rations, welfare. She was a refugee with no status. Susan had a passport. Susan had gold bracelets stuffed in her bag to buy extras for her child. Despite their ruse, Susan was still thought to be a regular wife who was just a visiting relative here under sufferance.
Ana’s only relief was to borrow the bucket pram and walk up Green Lane to the top shops where the family was registered for groceries. Here she could pretend to be an ordinary housewife with her baby, not a lonely exile trapped by winter in an alien land.
Freddie, I hate you, she sighed, shaking her head. But how can I hate the man who brought me back to life?
The man with the smiling face and freckled nose who waltzed into her dreams. How could she forget the brush of khaki on her cheek and the smell of eau-de-Cologne. ‘Moonlight Serenade’, dancing under the stars, strolling through the village square.
You told me about the other woman, how she never wrote and you feared she might be dead, thought Ana. You were sad and I was sad, for I had lost my home and my sister. You filled the hunger in my belly with food from the NAAFI and wine from cellars that loosened our limbs. You filled the hunger for love with your caresses and promises. I heard what I wanted to hear. Were all your words lies as we lay among the stars?
I cannot hate you. You were a gift from God, a candle in the darkness to guide my path. May you rest in peace.
Susan sat in a trance listening to the hymn, such a familiar hymn but in such a strange place. Memories came flooding back, of the high-vaulted roof, the fan whirring, the heat of the old church. She was so cold she could hardly think for the chattering of her teeth.
I am a prisoner now, she decided, a prisoner in a cold dark dungeon with no escape, only lies and sleeping next to the enemy: the girl who stole my sweetheart; the big liar with dark eyes and big bosoms.
Her spirits sank so low she wanted to fade away but Joy bounced on her knee, unaware that she was fatherless and nameless. Joy was the one true precious trophy.
So many babies took sick and died on the trek north, bundles passed down and buried at the border on Burmese soil, little graves in the track. Her child was round and rosy and full of life, a special gift. Big Ana’s baby was plain and too thin and cried. Joy was the true number one daughter.
She would be strong for her, fight for her and make her a true Winstanley. She recalled the night Joy was made. Her cheeks flushed and for a second she felt the heat of the tropical night.
It was a night of a thousand stars. They had danced and she had worn her best silk skirt with a blouse the colour of orchid pink. They had walked back slowly to the veranda where Auntie Betty would be waiting, Susan’s heart aching, for it was Freddie’s last night of leave.
‘You go and forget your Susan,’ she whined.
‘Never, it will be just like the song, ”We’ll Meet Again”’.
‘Have you told your mother about me?’
‘I’ve told my friends…Don’t look so sad.’
‘Why will they not let us marry?’ she pleaded.
‘It’s rules, army rules. We’ll be together soon though, and now you’ve got those earrings…’
‘They’re beautiful. I love you so much. Come close. I’ll let down my hair so you can see how long it grows.’ She swished a coil across his nose. ‘It smells of fragrant oil?’
‘Come here and let me kiss you one more time,’ he sighed, pulling her close.
‘Now I will give you a special gift in return. I am not a bar girl or quick-and-easy girl. I give my loving so you will remember me.’ She flung herself in his arms and led him down the path to the little wadi, burying her face in his shoulder while he covered her eyelids with kisses. She felt his lashes like butterfly wings on her cheek.
‘You think Susan is wicked to love you? Am I bad?’ She unwrapped her skirt and they lay on it, making love under the shrubs to the music of the night.
She breathed in his kisses; he smelled of the barracks’ tobacco, a soldier’s scent. He kissed her tiny breasts and fingered them lovingly, whispering her name like a cool fan. She melted under him, opening up to him with such joy and eagerness. As he entered there was pain and wonder. Then it was over and she longed for something more.
In the dim light it was hard to see where she ended and he began but the lemony dawn light rose in the sky all too soon. Their limbs were coiled around each other. She could hear his heart beating. They had become as one.
‘You’re so beautiful. How can I leave you now?’
‘You will write?’
‘I will write but if danger comes I might not be able to. When the war is over but there are still pockets of resistance in the hills. Stay with Auntie Betty and I will come for you.’
‘Promise?’ she pleaded.
‘Promise. Here’s my address in England just in case.’
But you didn’t come. You left me for her…You forgot your Susan.
One day soon she and Walt would stand before the congregation for their wedding ceremony, Lily mused. Here was where Freddie sucked gobstoppers under the pew and kicked the back panels, squirming until the clock got round to twelve, when Polly would be dishing out the Sunday roast. Here was where they brought Dad before his burial.
The church was full of memories-celebrations and sadness. It was right they should see off their brother with due honour. What a turnout! Looking up at the congregation spilling out into the balcony above, she felt comforted by the sea of familiar faces. There was all the Grimbleton football team staring down at her. What an honour that they should come and pay tribute to an old school pal. What a show for her kid brother! Tears bubbled to the surface-tears of sadness, not only for herself but for those happy childhood memories, the longing to live happier times again, knowing she’d never see him or Dad again. Then there were the two young girls who sat like statues, lost in their own thoughts, salty tears of disappointment running down their faces. No going back for any of them now. A Brown Owl knew her duty and responsibility. How could she think of abandoning them in a strange country?
Don’t you worry, Freddie, I’ll be their champion, come what may, she vowed. I shan’t let you down whatever the cost, she thought, twisting Walter’s engagement ring round her wedding finger for comfort. It had been chosen from a tray of second-hand rings: a tiny hoop of sapphire chippings, modest but so precious, the best of the bunch within his budget and post-war shortages. Walter insisted she chose it herself and he’d pay on the drip. Now it was loose. With all the worry of the past week there was no time to eat. She hoped they’d done Freddie proud.
He’d never been religious but she knew he would have liked the hymns they’d chosen.
Susan was sitting in the front and she was obviously used to English worship. The ruby and gold earrings shimmered in a shaft of light from the side window. Ana sat hunched over, not understanding much, trying to be invisible, clutching her restless baby. What a contrast these strangers were: a copper knob with her golden-haired girl, and the little dark one with her plump toddler whose fingers were into everything.
The organist attempted Freddie’s regimental march and they shuffled out, trying to look dignified, spilling out into the street like a flow of black lava. The sky was threatening more fog and ice. The pavements were piled high with dirty leaves from front gardens, the cart horses left pools of frozen dung staining the cobbles brown and yellow. There was no disguising the ugliness of this damp afternoon but hands must be shaken and condolences received before they made for Waverley House and the funeral tea.
Everyone had chipped in to make food for the guests. Crompton’s Biscuits even provided traditional spice biscuits. The Chapel Ladies’ Bright Hour were organising sandwiches, rolls and tray bakes for the usual suspects, who liked to have a nosy round and scoff anything going. Not that Lily begrudged giving hospitality, but she sensed most of them were here because of the new arrivals.
Ivy was showing off little Neville in his velvet trousers and knitted jumper. The other toddlers were whipped out of sight for their nap and Esme was giving orders from her seat in the parlour: ‘Concertina needs a nappy change…’ She had that pained look etched into her jaw when her corsets were digging in too tightly but her eyes were dull with grief and shock.
Ana whipped up the child with a scowl. ‘We say in Greece, husband’s mother is cross all wife must bear,’ Ana whispered to Susan. ‘My Dina is not called Concertina.’
Lily pretended she had not heard as Walt made a beeline for Susan.
‘Well, I never! This is the new Mrs Winstanley then? He beat us to the altar, Lil,’ he winked as Susan lifted her finger so everyone could see.
‘No, this is Cousin Cedric’s widow from London,’ Lily announced loudly.
‘I never knew you had a cousin,’ Walt continued. ‘So that one over there’s the bride,’ he said, pointing his sausage roll at Ana. ‘Blimey! I never thought Fred’d settle down with a copper knob, a ginger biscuit. Who’d a thowt it!’ He burst out laughing but Lily wasn’t amused. He plonked himself down in the softest chair by the fireside and got out his cigarettes. That would be him settled for the afternoon now.
Ivy was on the warpath, passing tongue sandwiches along a line of guests with that pained expression of hers, no doubt wishing she was a thousand miles away. Susan stood in the shadows looking awkward. This long-lost relative, dressed in her one decent silk blouse and thin skirt, was wearing Lily’s borrowed cardigan, which smelled of mothballs. Ivy edged herself round the sides of the room as no one was bothering to talk to her. Esme was receiving condolences from the neighbours. Better then to make those girls useful clearing up plates to take to Polly in the kitchen. They were banging down the cups and saucers onto trays until Esme caught their eye.
‘That’s my best china you’re cracking,’ she muttered, turning to Lily. ‘If you want any left over for your cabinet one day, I suggest you leave Polly to clear away. Take them upstairs, and what’s all this I hear about you and Walt naming the big day?’
‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ she replied, puzzled. The two of them had scarcely passed two words on the subject for weeks. What was he playing at?
‘I’m glad to hear it. A funeral is enough for my nerves, and with that lot upstairs to sort out…Is it hot in here?’ Esme was fanning herself like fury. ‘There’s no brass to fork out on weddings yet. I’m not made of money, Lil. We need you here now.’
‘I know, I know. I expect he was just trying to cheer you up,’ she sighed. It was good that Walt was showing some initiative but he should have asked her first before blabbing about dates. Weddings were the last thing on her mind at the moment.
‘The thought of you hitched up with that lazy loon over there gives me no cause for celebration,’ Esme added.
‘Oh, give it a rest! It’s been a long day,’ Lily snapped back, making for the stairs.
‘Lily Winstanley, that’s no way to talk to your mother!’
‘Oh, shut up, all of you,’ Lily muttered under her breath. There was only so much of her family she could stomach in one day.
Esme was trying to pin a smile on her face and look in control, but Lily’s words were out of character. Giving cheek back like that! All this ‘Family First’ was exhausting, keeping up appearances and fending off awkward questions. Trust neighbours to smell something fishy going on, but she’d not give them the satisfaction. It was like being in the goal mouth, trying to parry off an attack. It needed everyone knowing their right position on the pitch, no gaps in the defence to let in a winning shot or an own goal.
She’d been touched to see so many of Freddie’s old pals. She’d welcome any one of them on board their team, but not Walter, all fingers and thumbs. Lily had scored an own goal in choosing him. Why didn’t she fancy one of the young Grasshoppers?
Esme kicked off her court shoes with relief and loosened her back suspenders. She’d put on a bit of weight since this outfit was made, a bit of middle-age spread, and it didn’t suit her. Then she saw Pete Walsh heading in her direction, wobbling his tea cup, the Royal Doulton bone china looking in peril on its saucer.
‘I’m glad I caught you, Mrs Winstanley,’ smiled the tall young man with hands like boxing gloves. ‘The lads and I want to thank you for the spread. You’ve done Freddie proud…’ He hesitated. ‘But I wonder if I could have a word as I’m a bit flummoxed.’
She ushered him into the bay window recess.
‘You know that Susan? Well, someone said she was his cousin’s wife from London, only when Freddie wrote to me from Burma, he did mention a Susan.’ He paused, searching her face. ‘It’s not her, is it?’
Straight in the net like a cannon ball: one nil! She glanced to see if there were any onlookers.
‘So you know about her then?’ she whispered.
‘He told me about her but not about the kiddy.’ Pete looked her straight in the eye.
‘What else did he tell you?’
He had the courtesy to blush, ‘Just lads’ talk and stuff…’
‘I can guess,’ she smiled. ‘You’ve put me in an awkward position, young man.’
‘My lips are sealed, Mrs Winstanley.’
‘Who else knows the score?’
‘Not a soul. I thought I’d better check it out first,’ he said, showing a set of impressive straight teeth.
‘I’d rather keep this in the family, Peter. Not a word to our Lil. She’s enough on her plate.’
‘Silent as the grave, I promise. Scout’s honour,’ he smiled, and he sidled away as Levi approached.
‘You two were in a holy huddle. What did he want? I hope you asked him for tickets for the Cup tie.’
‘Just giving his condolences. He’s a grand chap.’
‘The boys were saying how good the foreigners’ English was.’ He winked and tapped his nose. ‘Don’t look like that. I gave them the party line. I told them they’d both had good sleeping dictionaries.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean, son?’
Levi chuckled. ‘Well, let’s put it this way, Mam, the closer you get to someone the quicker you learn. There was this German girl I knew who was fluent in Cockney when she got a Tommy boyfriend.’
‘I don’t want to know about consorting with the enemy.’
‘What enemy?’ asked Lily, suddenly at her shoulder.
‘Never you mind. Just go and rattle some cups and show the guests the door. I’m whacked.’
‘We did Freddie proud today, all of us,’ said Lily.
‘I wish he’d done the same to us, and that’s the truth of it,’ Esme sighed, feeling old and worn out. What a web of lies we weave…Perhaps she should tell Lil that Pete Walsh was in the know, perhaps not. They would just have to play the game as it unfolded now.
Ana couldn’t wait for the last guest to leave. Susan went upstairs with the girls, who were covered in chocolate. Someone had brought them a treat. Lily’s man was sitting in a chair chain-smoking, being waited on hand and foot on account of his bad back. Women were made for men, her mother once said, but this one was a greedy pig. He ate a plateful of biscuits at one go. The room was a fug of cigarette smoke. Ana finished her duties and went upstairs with relief.
She found Susan undressing Dina, who was bouncing with delight naked, and making a joyful din. It was the last straw.
‘What you do with my baby?’ she snapped.
‘I’m getting them both ready for a bath. I will save you the trouble,’ Su replied, putting up her fingers to peg her nose in disgust.
‘She my baby…I do that,’ Ana insisted.
‘Yes, but she is dirty and her bottom is red, you see?’ Su answered.
‘You fuss. She can wait, I am tired,’ said Ana, furious. ‘Leave her alone!’
‘Sorry, Ana, I was trying to help you,’ Su said, putting down the child, but Dina held up her arms and reached out for her, making matters worse.
‘Don’t. I no need help from you. She can wait,’ she snapped, but Susan for once snapped back at her.
‘Everything waits for you…you are a lazy mother. You never wash under your arms, you smell and your baby smells. You stink this room out. I don’t like to live with your smells.’
Ana sniffed her armpits. There was a stain under her blouse but she smelled of milk and woman. What was wrong about that? The blouse needed a wash but so what?
‘I am clean. I washed yesterday. It is too cold to wash all over when the ice freezes the water. You fuss,’ she said, seeing with satisfaction the look on Su’s face. ‘You have plenty money for soap and new clothes.’
‘That is none of your business. I am a British citizen. I know how to do things proper,’ Su argued, brushing down her skirt and fiddling with her bracelet.
‘Look at you. You all gold bangles and earrings. I have nothing.’
‘That is not my fault. You make everyone sorry for you…poor Ma Ana…in a labour camp, a prisoner of war. How do we even know you speak the truth? You stole my Freddie. You told him lies too? I have had a bad time too. Why do you quarrel with me when I am trying to help you?’ she shouted back at her. ‘I have done nothing to you.’
‘He think you dead. I not steal him, he was ripe for picking,’ Ana argued, gathering the dirty clothes up in a huff of indignation. ‘All these silk curtains you are hanging up-you shove your silk skirts in my face every day. You think you are number one wife. I have nothing and now you take my baby as well,’ she sobbed.
‘I try to help you but you do not like anything I do. You are one sorry lady, always moaning like the wind through the trees. It is cold and dark. It is cruel weather. I cannot help the weather in England. If you want sun go back to Greece. If you stay then pull up your socks and get on with job,’ said Susan, folding her arms determinedly.
Lily was standing in the doorway listening, her eyes wide. ‘What is going on?’
‘What is all this pulling up of socks, Lily? I no wear socks. It is too cold. I have only one pair of stockings and if I pull them they tear. Then I have nothing on my legs. I have no clothing coupons,’ Ana sobbed.
Susan shook her head and smiled. ‘It is a typical English saying. It means you grit your teeth and smile when you are hurting inside. No one wants to see your hurts. The British want you to get on with “jolly good show,” go to work and keep the train on the track no matter what happens,’ she slowed her words so that Ana could understand. ‘Forget your troubles and try harder. Troubles pass like walking by fire, you have to walk through smoking darkness with a stiff upper lip and no tears, until you see blue sky again. “Keep Right On to the End of the Road”-we sang that song on the long march out of Burma.’
‘But there is no blue sky in Grimbleton. It is all fog and grey clouds, smoking gun chimneys and sulphur. Where has the sun gone, Lily?’ Ana wept, turning from Su in disgust. ‘I no speak to her any more. She is dead. Freddie say she is dead. She tell stories.’
‘So you think I am a liar, that Joy is not his girl? You tell her, Lily, you tell her she smell! I am used to sweat and heat and warm sun, the heavy warm rain of the Monsoon weather but this is where we are and we must be grateful, Ma Ana, grateful for a roof over our heads that does not leak, food at the table. Daw Esme does not turn us away. We must give respect to dragon mother. She is sad. She has lost a son and we have our beautiful daughters,’ Susan shouted. ‘In death we have life, that is what the vicar tell us.’
Ana stared down at the face of the tiny woman with delicate cheekbones and flashing eyes. ‘How you be so still like boat on a lake, no ripples?’ she asked. ‘You have no tears. You not honour the dead.’
‘Oh, yes, I do! I went on living when all around me were dying. Here is a better life for me. The Japanese bombed our beautiful cities. It was a terrible time. I trekked to India with my family through the jungle. I will not talk about the time of walking bones and skellingtons, when we ate roots and drank water from leaves. I saw terrible things too, many die. What do you know? Better forget what is past. We shall make the best of living here, I know.’ She paused and gave a big sigh. ‘When it is cold and dark I think of blossom on trees, orchids and perfume of jasmine flowers. I think of spices and making balachan pickle with my mother. Her spirit looks down on me with kindness. She expects me to behave like a good Anglo-Burmese so I will. I have Joy and she is my sunshine. I will make sure she walks in sunlight always. We have a friend in Lily, who looks after us all. Then it is not so bad.’
‘This is bad! I wanna go home but how can I go home with no husband and a girl child? I have no dowry. Who will wed me now? There is nothing but war amongst my country and ruined towns. There is nothing for me there but starvation.’
‘Then we make our own sunshine, Ma Ana,’ Su said, passing Dina back into her arms. ‘Come, the bath water will be cold and the snake woman will shout at us again.’
‘I don’t want bath. I want fresh tomatoes warmed by the midday sun, the golden oil of olives ripe in the heat of the afternoon. I want to sit with a glass of retsina, watching the oleanders swaying in the evening breeze. How can I have any of that here?’ she replied.
‘The Bible says, ask and you shall receive, seek and ye shall find…’ said Su.
‘You believe that if I pray to holy St Aristaeus my dream will come?’ Ana looked up in amazement. How could a Greek saint perform miracles so far away?
‘It is written in the Holy Word. Everything comes to him who waits,’ added Susan.
‘How long I wait?’
‘As long as it takes.’
‘You talk riddles to me,’ Ana snapped.
‘I am trying to help you lift up your socks,’ Su replied with flashing eyes. ‘There you go again, moan, moan. What shall we do with this miserable bag of bones with baggy bosoms?’
‘You are a selfish pig. You think you are better than me with your fat baby,’ Ana snapped back. ‘I not speak to you again, ever…’
‘My baby is beautiful. Tell her, Miss Lily.’ Su looked for support but Lily had beat a hasty retreat downstairs.
‘What on earth is that racket going on upstairs?’ said Esme as they tidied away the remnants of the funeral tea: soiled napkins and crumbs, a forgotten umbrella and gloves. ‘Go and see to it, Lil, I’m done in.’
‘I’ve been up once. Better to just let them sort it out like squabbling children,’ she replied, too weary to want more conflict.
‘And what would you know about that?’ Esme snapped.
‘A pack of noisy seven-year-old Brownies teaches you enough. If I chased after all their fallings-in and-out, we’d never get a badge done. Better to let them sort themselves out.’
‘But they’re mothers, not children…’
‘Then you go and sort them out,’ Lily replied. It was all so tiresome.
‘I don’t like your attitude these days. We never had this before—’
‘We never had to deal with Freddie’s girlfriends and babies either. Everything’s changing.’
‘They can’t stay here for ever. It’s like Manchester Piccadilly, all comings and goings, and you’ll want them on their way if there’s a wedding to plan.’
‘You won’t send them away, will you?’ The thought of her mother chucking them out was real now.
‘Oh, it can wait a while longer,’ Esme replied, not wanting another argument. ‘Family first and foremost, after all.’
‘Ana is crying ’cos she’s cold and the food is strange. She wants olive oil and a taste of home, just a bit of comfort.’
‘Well, she’ll have to want. This is Grimbleton. What’s the olive oil for? Is she sick?’
‘They cook with it in Greece and in the Bible lands too.’
‘What’s wrong with lard?’
‘Don’t ask me. She’s homesick.’
‘Then she can go home on the next boat and solve one of our problems.’
‘But little Dina, your own granddaughter-why must she suffer?’
‘I can’t think about that now,’ came Esme’s reply. ‘My head is throbbing with all that talking. At least they’ve shut up now.’
‘I expect they’re not talking to each other. The silence is deafening.’
‘So what would a Brown Owl do about that?’
Lily smiled. ‘Sit them down side by side and see what it’s all about, I suppose.’
‘What’s stopping you? Go to it!’
‘Not tonight, Mother. I’ve had enough for one day. Walt and me have hardly passed the time of day. I miss Freddie too, but the man they talk about isn’t the brother I remember. How many more girls did he make promises to? How many more seeds did he scatter?’
‘Don’t talk ill of the dead, lass. They can’t answer back.’
‘I’m not so sure about that. I think our Freddie has left us quite a few messages one way and another…’
For two days Ana and Su stomped about in silent protest, speaking politely only when spoken to. For two days everyone tiptoed around them as they glared at each other, hissing like angry snakes. When Su went right, Ana went left, in and out of the house like weather girls in a cuckoo clock, coxing and boxing.
Then there was Ivy and Levi, dodging the flak, and Esme trying to ignore them. Lily was at her wits’ end. Should she intervene or stay silent, bang their heads together or go out and get on with her busy life and leave them to come to? Waverley House, big as it was, couldn’t contain all the warring factions, or keep the nosy neighbours from prying.
A house divided falls apart, Lily mused. It was time to stand in the firing line and say her piece, but why did it have to be her?
Don’t be a marshmallow, be a nut cracknel, she decided, gathering her courage. Let them all chew on that!