The picnic was abandoned, of course.
The news of Mr Russell’s arrest was so sudden, so completely unexpected, that Joan found it more dismaying even than Ronnie’s fall from grace. That such a serious allegation should be made against the father of her best friend was shocking. “And such a popular man too,” Mum said. “This will send shock waves through the whole community.”
Mum explained that Mr Russell was being held for questioning with two other senior executives of the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board, where Mr Russell worked, with regard to black market offences.
In the newspaper it said that a cover-up had been attempted, but “relentless police inquiries” had at last completed the case against them. “Access to transport to and from the docks would have been easy for people in such high authority to arrange,” the paper wrote. “A whole network of black marketeers, operating nationwide, is suspected of being involved in the distribution of goods throughout the country.”
Joan’s first thought, when she heard the news, was for Doreen.
“Do you think I should ring her up?” she asked Mum anxiously.
Mum shook her head. “I don’t think you should, not yet, Joanie. They’ll be fending off all kinds of unwelcome attention from the press, and may not be answering the phone, anyway.”
Doreen missed school for one day. She arrived the following morning looking rather pale but otherwise much as usual. Angela Travis and her gang were awaiting her arrival with gloating triumph. As soon as she walked into the classroom, Angela shot up her hand.
“Well, what is it, Angela?” said Miss Sanderson.
“Please can I have permission to change my desk?”
“Whatever for?”
“Because I don’t want to sit next to Doreen Russell. My parents wouldn’t like me to mix with someone whose father is in trouble with the law. Someone who may even be a convicted criminal!”
Miss Sanderson’s reply was scathing. “Please don’t be ridiculous, Angela. You know as well as I do that whatever is happening outside this school is not our concern. You are all here to learn and get on with your work, and not to be influenced by local gossip.”
“But my father says—”
“That’s quite enough. Now hurry up and get your books ready before the bell goes for prayers.”
But everyone knew that this was just an opening salvo. Angela’s eyes were gleaming with satisfaction as she sat down. She knew that she only had to wait until mid-morning break time to mount her major assault.
When the bell went, Joan, Doreen and Ania walked out into the playground, arm in arm. Angela and her gang were waiting for them, grouped in a tight huddle. They spread out to stand directly in their path. Everyone else melted away to a safe distance.
“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, Doreen,” Angela began. “We all know you’ve always thought of yourself as posher than most of us – you and your brother – with your big house and all that. But now your dad’s probably going to be sent to prison, things are a bit different, aren’t they?”
Doreen lifted her chin up. She remained silent, but Joan felt her arm tremble a little.
“Oh, shut up, Angela,” Joan said bravely. “We all know how much you love picking on anyone who’s in trouble. It’s your speciality, isn’t it? Kicking anyone who’s already down?”
“Well, all I know is that my mum and dad say they’d never stoop to getting things on the black market, let alone dealing in it. They say it’s as unpatriotic as you can be. And they don’t want me to mix with people who do. I’d be ashamed if it was my dad. We all would. That’s why I don’t want to sit near someone like Doreen in class.”
Before Joan could think of a good enough comeback, Ania suddenly stepped forward. To everyone’s surprise, she walked up and stood very close to Angela. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but very clear.
“Perhaps you would wish Doreen to wear a yellow star?” she said. “Something so everyone will know she is too low for you or your friends to sit near? This I have seen done to many people, in Poland, before I come here. Perhaps you would like this to happen here? So you can feel more good about yourself. Mr Russell has bad trouble. So now you want us to forget the good things he has done? Like help my Uncle Lukasz when they want to send him to a military prison? Like find me a good place to live? Like to be always…”
“Generous?” offered Joan.
“Yes, generous. Something you never be, Angela, because you do not know how. And now you want that we all think bad of Doreen and her brother and Mrs Russell too, though we know nothing against any of them? When I come from Poland, I think here will be different. But now I find you and your friends just the same as those who drove us out!”
There was a stunned silence. Nobody at school had ever heard quiet little Ania speak like that before. It took Angela some moments to collect herself. But as she opened her mouth to reply, her voice was drowned out by a rousing cheer from all those bystanders who were within earshot.
When, at last, school was over for the day, Joan and Doreen trudged home together as they always did. It was their first opportunity to talk privately, but now Joan was at a loss to know what to say.
Finally, Doreen broke the silence. “Thanks a lot for sticking up for me today. You and Ania. It was great what she said about my dad.”
“Angela Travis and her rotten lot stink,” said Joan. “We all think so. Everyone else in the class was right behind you.”
“You were all great. I couldn’t have faced it…” She paused, her voice faltering, then she went on. “I just keep worrying about how David managed at his school today. He went in, of course. But he’s all buttoned up about it. Won’t talk to any of us, not even Mum…” She trailed off miserably.
“You’ve all got lots of friends, don’t worry,” Joan said. “Brian will stick up for him.”
“But no one will believe that none of us knew Dad was in such trouble, not even Mum. I can’t imagine how he managed to keep it all from us, especially her. He’s been a lot different since Ronnie Harper Jones got transferred, of course. Bad-tempered, snapping our heads off when we tried to talk to him, acting like he never has before. And at night I could hear Mum crying and him pacing around downstairs. David and I both knew what an awful state Mum was in. It was obvious. But she never let on how worried she was about not knowing what was wrong with Dad. She’s very good at keeping up appearances.”
Abruptly, Doreen stopped walking and turned away. Joan knew she was crying.
“That’s the trouble with this place,” Doreen said in a muffled voice, “especially now there’s a war on. We’re all supposed to keep cheerful − never say if you’re having a rotten time. Even when something like this happens, and your dad might get sent to prison and all that spiteful crowd at the Bluebell Cafe can’t wait to make mincemeat out of your mum, you have to carry on as usual, as though everything’s normal…”
“I know,” Joan said with conviction. “I do know, believe me.”
The following Saturday morning Mum announced that she was going to invite Mrs Russell for a coffee at the Bluebell Cafe.
“But why the Bluebell?” exclaimed Audrey. “You never go there, Mum. You’ve always said you wouldn’t be seen dead there with that lot. And can you imagine what sort of reception the two of you will get now?”
“That’s just why I want to go,” said Mum. “Sylvia Russell is my friend, and I want to show that crowd that whatever her husband may or may not be accused of, it will always be the case.”
When Saturday morning came, Joan and Doreen insisted on tagging along to give moral support. A silence fell when they all walked in together and sat down at a table near the window. Slowly, conversation among the other customers was resumed. Nobody acknowledged them or offered a greeting. Two women rather abruptly called for their bill, gathered their belongings and left.
When the coffee arrived, Mum chatted gallantly, and Mrs Russell did her best to behave normally. But Joan and Doreen remained helplessly silent.
This was a terrible idea, Joan thought. But whatever happens, we’ve got to see it through now, for Mum’s sake, if nothing else. Sometimes she wished that Mum was not such a loyal person. It seemed to land her in so much trouble.
They stuck it out for as long as they could, and then walked homewards together in silence, subdued by what had happened.
When they got inside, Joan climbed up into her attic studio and sat there, fuming. She had always known that the Bluebell Cafe crowd were a lot of narrow-minded, snobbish old cats, but she had never been on the receiving end of their particular brand of spite before. It was terrible to see Mum and Mrs Russell snubbed like that, and not being able to do anything about it.
“As soon as I’m old enough, and this horrible war is over, I’m getting out of here,” Joan muttered. “I don’t blame Brian for wanting to, and I will too. I’ll run away and go to art school, and never come back except to visit Mum and the family and see the few friends I like. I’ll live in an attic, so long as it is as far away from the Bluebell Cafe as possible!”