There was no getting away from the fact that the war with Germany was getting worse. As May marched on not only had the Jerries stormed through the country in the battle of Calais and Flanders but the government had passed the Emergency Powers Act putting banks, munitions, wages and work production in the control of the state. If Violet was honest she didn’t understand half of it, but she knew that the world suddenly felt very bleak and the war they had been fighting since last September was now beginning to feel very real, with more and more of the daily life of Britons affected in some small way.
Now as Violet sat in the kitchen, eating a slice of toast by the sink and gazing out at the newly installed Anderson shelter, she wondered how much longer this would all carry on and how much more Britain could take, and more specifically how much she could. She had volunteered for the WVS the last two nights and now had three days of double shifts at the Palais. Violet was exhausted.
‘Why don’t you bring that nice brown boy back for his tea one night?’ Queenie asked suddenly pulling her from her thoughts.
At the question, Violet rolled her eyes and turned to face Queenie while Maisie giggled as she helped herself to more tea.
‘Don’t say that, Nan. It ain’t nice,’ Violet said with a sigh.
‘Why not?’ Queenie looked confused. ‘He is brown ain’t he? And he is a nice boy? Or at least you certainly seem taken with him.’
There was only silence apart from the sound of Maisie’s giggles and the gentle clacking of Betty’s knitting needles in the corner as she sat in the wing-backed chair, knitting her father yet another pair of socks.
It was the fourth pair in the past two days and whilst Violet admired anyone that could knit at such speed, she couldn’t help wondering why her mother thought George needed so many socks.
‘Well?’ Queenie asked, breaking the silence. ‘When you getting Eamon round for his tea?’
Violet wasn’t sure which surprised her more, the fact Queenie was so persistent or that she had managed to use his name.
‘I’m not sure, I’ll ask him. Why do you want him here so badly?’ Violet asked.
‘She wants to show off to her friends down the WVS,’ Betty put in. ‘She’s set the cat amongst the pigeons down there by telling them all you’re courting a black fella.’
Violet felt a sense of despair. The way her family were talking about Eamon made her feel as though their relationship was a spectacle, not something to be cherished.
‘I didn’t think you had time for a boyfriend anyway,’ Queenie mused. Hands full, she reached past Violet to set her cup and dirty porridge bowl in the sink. ‘Thought you were too busy with the dance hall.’
‘She’s too busy putting the world to rights,’ Maisie said loftily. ‘Ain’t you heard she went to a meeting of the LCP?’
The clang of porridge bowls as Queenie dropped them went right through Violet.
‘Not them nutters down Camberwell way?’ she asked.
‘They are not nutters, they’re fighting for equality,’ Violet hissed.
‘Well I dunno what his mother’s going to say about it,’ Betty said. ‘She likes to stay out of trouble.’
‘But surely Enid would have supported equal rights given she was married to a black man,’ Violet pointed out.
Queenie raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, she had her share of troubles when she was married. It wasn’t easy being with a black fella. Poor Enid regularly took a beating. I remember helping her home once, don’t you, Bet?’
Betty nodded. ‘We’d just come out the pictures and seen The 39 Steps when we bumped into Enid. Cut to ribbons weren’t she by some brute or other that didn’t like her being with a black fella.’
‘She was,’ Queenie confirmed. ‘I brought her here and helped her clean her wounds because she knew the kids were home and she didn’t want ’em seeing her in such a state.’
‘Weren’t she going to say she’d fallen off the bus?’ Betty asked, putting down her knitting.
‘Something like that,’ Queenie agreed. ‘She’s not had it easy, Enid.’
Violet winced. She had heard the stories from both Temperance and Eamon.
‘And what about his sister?’ Betty called. ‘Is she involved in this group as well?’
Maisie shook her head. ‘Temperance is too busy teaching dance.’
‘Very sensible.’ Betty sniffed. ‘All this troublemaking does nobody any good at all.’
The sound of Betty’s needles was beginning to drive Violet to the edge and a mix of exasperation and fury coursed through her as she rounded on her mother. ‘No, you’re just happy to let the world walk all over you and whine at those around you. It’s no wonder George has treated you like a doormat all these years, because that’s what you are.’
Not waiting for an answer Violet reached for her bag that was hanging on the back of her chair and stormed out of the parlour. She was just about to open the front door when a knock sounded. Swinging it open she saw the telegram boy standing before her, envelope in hand.
Fear swelled in her heart like an untreated blister. She remembered the last time she had taken a telegram like this. It had contained the news that her brother had been killed in action. Now, as the boy nodded and handed her the note she felt the same familiar sense of dread.
Closing the door she stood on the mat staring hesitantly at the envelope. It was addressed to her mother but she knew Betty wouldn’t cope with reading whatever it said inside. Perhaps she ought to open it instead.
She was saved from having to make a decision by the sound of her grandmother shuffling towards her.
‘Did I hear the door?’
Wordlessly Violet nodded and held up the envelope.
‘Ah.’ Queenie nodded. ‘You’re worried about giving it to your mother.’
‘Violet, I thought you’d gone,’ Betty cried, appearing at the kitchen doorway and observing them both. ‘What are you whispering about?’
Violet and Queenie exchanged worried glances but there wasn’t time to act as Betty spotted the envelope.
‘The army,’ she cried, snatching it deftly from Violet’s hand.
As Betty ripped the envelope open and scanned the contents, Violet watched her face crumple.
‘It’s George,’ she cried. ‘He’s missing.’
At the tea dance later that afternoon, Violet was consumed with feelings of guilt and remorse. She shouldn’t have spoken to her mother that way, she knew that. Betty was never going to be her favourite person but she didn’t have to bully and shout at her the way her father did.
Slipping a customer a token across the wooden desk in exchange for her coat, Violet tried to let the sounds of Harry Leder soothe her. It was rare for the big bandleader to be in charge of a tea dance but she thought that perhaps someone somewhere could sense that today she needed to lose herself in the sound of some calming standards, and there was nobody better than Harry to do that.
‘Well you look like you lost a penny and found a farthing,’ Renee called, interrupting her thoughts.
Violet turned to smile at the redhead. As usual she looked incredible in a cherry-red satin dress, with tiny buttons all the way down the front.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Any word off your father?’ Renee asked softly.
‘Other than the one asking me for money?’ Violet spat, then her expression softened as she took in Renee’s concern. ‘We had a telegram this morning. He’s missing.’
‘I’m sorry, love,’ Renee said with sincerity. ‘How’s your mother?’
Violet waggled her thin eyebrows. ‘In bits. She hates him but she won’t have a word said against him.’
‘And you?’
Violet lifted her chin in defiance and nodded. ‘I’m fine. I couldn’t give a monkey’s.’
‘You sure about that?’ Renee asked knowingly. ‘I hated me own family, and trust me I had good reason to, but it still hit me hard when me dad died.’
Violet thought for a moment. ‘I’m really all right. My dad’s a terrible man. I came to terms with the fact I lost him a long time ago.’
At that Renee reached out and squeezed her hand. Violet felt a jolt of surprise. She had never pegged Renee as soft.
‘My mother was like yours,’ Renee said. ‘My dad was a right bastard. Always in trouble with someone.’
Violet turned to Renee in surprise. She had never heard the Liverpudlian talk about her family before.
‘Is that why you left Liverpool?’
Renee shrugged. ‘Sort of. My parents are both dead. Dad was a bookie, a bent one at that. Always turning punters over and it caught up with him one day. He went off to work and never came back, owing thousands.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Violet gasped.
‘I’m not. My dad wasn’t a nice piece of work and I reckon he was killed by some thug for one bad deed too many. Mam of course would never hear a bad word said, even though she knew he was a bad lot. She died a couple of months after me da’s disappearance. A broken heart I think, leaving me and me sister to it.’
As Renee finished speaking Violet could tell it had cost the dancer a lot to reveal something so personal.
‘Lizzie moved away shortly after. She’d wed a fella from London and made a new life for herself. I encouraged her to get as far away as possible.’
‘And you?’ Violet murmured.
At the question Renee smiled. ‘And me, I carried on dancing. It was the only thing that got me through the pain of life. What with me dad’s creditors hounding me for his money, I did all I could to pay back his debts and restore the reputation of the family.’
‘Blimey, Renee, how did that fall to you?’
‘Because there was nobody else,’ Renee said with a sigh. ‘So I used me talent to get me out of trouble. And the more competitions I won, and the more people would pay to see me dance, I started to chip away at the debts.’
‘So what brought you here?’
‘Lizzie, me sister,’ Renee said sharply. ‘Her Edward died of TB and she was upset. So I packed me bags and moved to London to be with her. Getting a job here was the best thing that could have happened to me, though don’t tell Bill that.’
At the joke Violet smiled. She had a feeling the Liverpudlian wouldn’t revel in her misery for long.