As the first bombs dropped on the north side of the river, Joe and Bel flew back through the front door of Tatham Street just in time to see Agnes charging down the hallway with two gas masks and Lucille in her arms. The poor woman looked as though she was going to collapse with sheer fright.
‘Thank God you’re here!’
Just then Arthur turned up outside the house, clutching a bunch of radishes.
‘Come on! We’ve—’ His voice was blotted out by the loud, punctuated sound of the ack-ack guns, frantically spilling out their bullets across the sky.
‘Arthur, yer gas mask.’
‘Sod the bloody mask, let’s go!’ Arthur turned, as Bel grabbed an ashen-faced Lucille from her mother-in-law’s arms, which were still covered in soapy suds.
‘Come on, Ma!’ Joe ushered Agnes out through the front door and slammed it shut behind her.
As they all hurried down the road, they joined other families as they rushed towards the air-raid shelter in the basement of Tavistock House.
Bel turned to Agnes, ‘Do you know where my ma is?’
‘She told me she was going into town, not long after you and Joe left,’ Agnes told her, seeing the look of worry on Bel’s face.
‘She’ll be all right,’ she tried to reassure her. ‘She’s as tough as old boots!’ Agnes tried unsuccessfully to inject some humour into her voice. She might dislike the woman intensely, but she hoped to God that she was safe. Heaven knew where she was, though; she had been acting strangely all morning – had seemed very subdued and not at all her usual loud, gobby self.
Bel looked round to see Joe, who had dropped behind ever so slightly and was clearly in a lot of pain. He had practically galloped back home, pushing himself forward with his stick, propelling himself the quarter of a mile or so back to their front door. She had seen the agony in his face – and the relief when they’d seen Lucille in Agnes’s arms. He had never had to say the words to her but, ever since his return, she had known he would lay down his life for his brother’s daughter. And, after today, she realised for her too.
Just as they neared the opening of the air-raid shelter in the basement of the grand Georgian red-brick mansion, they heard a huge explosion. Bel let out a scream. Her whole body was shaking. Joe came up behind her and grabbed Lucille from her.
‘Get in. I’ll pass Lucille in to you,’ he ordered.
Bel climbed down the stone stairs and then turned round quickly to reach up for Lucille. Joe handed the little girl down, who had her thumb jammed into her mouth and her eyes squeezed shut. Her little legs dangled for a moment in the air, like a parachutist ready to land, as Joe carefully passed her to Bel.
Joe limped backwards and barked at his mother and Arthur to get in. They knew there was no arguing with him, and they both took it in turns to take his hand as he helped them climb, one after the other, down the first few steep steps into the darkness of their underground sanctuary.
‘What about Pearl?’ he asked Bel, whose face had appeared again, looking up at him through the darkness.
‘Get in, Joe, she’ll be fine. There’s nothing you can do to help her. We don’t even know where she is.’
As if on cue there was another explosion, quickly followed by another. The earth shuddered.
‘Get in!’ Bel shouted.
Joe climbed down the stairs and into the semi-darkness of the large stone basement. It looked as if at one time it had been some kind of wine cellar, as there were wooden shelves and wine racks but no actual bottles.
‘Bloody Jerry!’ An old woman’s voice sounded out in the darkness, before it was illuminated by the strike of a match and the gentle glow of a gas lamp. Her deeply lined face crinkled as she spotted Lucille.
‘Ah, what a bonny bairn,’ she said. ‘No need to be frightened, flower. We’re all safe now.’
Lucille looked at the woman, who had a woollen black shawl wrapped around her shoulders and was wearing a loose blouse and a long black skirt, around which was wrapped a white apron. Bel knew it was the unofficial uniform of a fishwife, and that the woman’s barrow of fish, crabs and kippers would be languishing somewhere not far from the shelter’s entrance. She also knew the old woman’s apron pocket would jingle with coppers were she to stand up, and that her pound notes would be safely tucked away in her garter.
Lucille seemed fascinated by the woman, who bent down and started delving around in the depths of her large carpet bag, which she had dumped next to her on the hard concrete floor. As she pulled out a huge ball of purple wool and two long knitting needles, she eyed Lucille and asked, ‘Do you know how to knit, petal?’
Lucille shyly shook her head.
‘Well, then shall an old fishwife show you?’
Lucille nodded her head. The old woman looked to Bel, who gave her permission by way of a tense smile.
There were only a few other people in the shelter – an older couple sat close together, holding hands, quietly chatting, and a mum and her young son, who looked around ten years old. The boy was shuffling a pack of cigarette cards, occasionally taking one out and holding it up to his mum, who was being very convincing in her show of interest.
‘Where’s Beryl?’ Bel asked Agnes, as they all sat down on an old bench that had been pushed up against the wall. Arthur and Agnes leant back against the cold brickwork.
‘In town with the girls,’ Agnes said, adding in the next breath, ‘Please God let Polly be all right.’
It was what they had all been thinking, but hadn’t wanted to say it for the sake of causing Agnes any more worry. Bel sat down next to her and took her hand, holding it tight.
‘They’ve got shelters in the yard. She would have been able to go straight there. She’ll probably be sat with the rest of the women now, worrying about all of us.’
‘It’s just,’ Agnes said, her voice wavering, ‘the explosions sounded like they were on the north side.’
Joe was standing still, near to the entrance, in case anyone else should need to get in. He had been thinking the same thing.
‘I hate that yard!’ Agnes suddenly blurted out. ‘Never wanted her to work there in the first place. They’re like sitting ducks there, waiting for that madman to drop a bomb on them all.’
Arthur was sitting quietly next to Agnes. He wanted to try and reassure her, but didn’t know what to say. If it were his daughter, he would be feeling exactly the same. Would have tried to stop her working there, just like Agnes had done. But Polly was her own woman. When she made her mind up about something, there was no stopping her. And, apart from this, if she hadn’t started working there, his grandson would never have fallen in love and found his future wife.
Agnes’s attention was caught by the click-clack of the fishwife’s knitting and she looked over to a clearly captivated Lucille.
She then glanced across to Joe, who she noticed also looked entranced – but it had nothing to do with knitting.
As she followed his slightly misty-eyed stare, she saw that it was Bel who was the focus of his rapt attention.
She had seen the look before on Joe’s face – many times. Over many years. She had always felt a little sad for Joe. She was his mother, and had been able to read every nuance of his facial expressions since he’d been a baby.
Like most mothers, she knew how to read her children, their body language, the tones of their voices – and the way they looked at others.
She had seen this look on Joe’s face a few times since his return, although she knew he had been careful not to let his feelings for Bel show through, even though she also knew that couldn’t have been easy – not when they all lived together and were such a close family.
But when Agnes turned her head to look at Bel, who was sitting next to her, she got a jolt of surprise – for Bel was returning her son’s loving gaze. There was no denying the unspoken dialogue that was occurring between the two.
Agnes was shocked. How come she hadn’t seen it before?
Bel was like one of her own, but she had always been harder to read. Bel had become part of the Elliot family from a young age, but she still wasn’t Agnes’s own blood; and although she knew her daughter-in-law well, Bel was still adept at shielding her true feelings. She had learnt to do that from a very young age – she’d been forced to with a mother like Pearl.
Joe caught his mother looking at Bel – and her startled look – and he knew in an instant that she had seen what had passed between himself and his brother’s widow.
He took a deep breath and hobbled over to sit next to Bel. He took her hand and could feel her body tense. Then he looked at his mother.
‘Ma, we’ve got something to tell you,’ he said.
‘No, Joe. This isn’t the right time.’ Bel’s voice sounded quiet and nervous.
‘Bel, there is never going to be a right time. And there’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ Joe said, looking at his mum and at Arthur, who was now watching and listening intently to what was being said. He had caught Joe taking Bel’s hand in the dim light.
Agnes sat up straight and put both her hands in her lap.
‘I love Bel,’ Joe said, looking at his sister-in-law. ‘And,’ he added, ‘I think Bel also loves me.’
Bel could feel herself going crimson red. She felt mortified. All her feelings of shame came rushing to the fore.
‘I’m so sorry, Agnes,’ she stuttered. She tried to pull her hand away from Joe’s, but he held it tightly.
‘I didn’t mean this to happen,’ she stuttered, not knowing what to say, but needing to say something. The thought of losing Agnes’s love was unbearable.
‘I loved Teddy so much,’ she said, tears starting to well behind her eyes. Now guilt was overtaking the shame and making her feel wretched.
Arthur felt his own eyes prick. He had always thought that Bel and Joe made a lovely couple; knew without doubt that Lucille would be as pleased as punch should Joe become her stepfather, but of course he had never said anything. It was not his place.
Joe looked at Agnes for a response and her face changed and softened; she turned and took her daughter-in-law’s face in her hands and said, ‘I know you did, Bel. You loved my son with all your heart. I know that.’
Agnes’s softly spoken words unleashed Bel’s tears, which started cascading silently down her face.
‘But he’s gone now,’ Agnes continued. The deeply felt sorrow could be heard in her voice. ‘And all of our lives must go on.’ Agnes wiped Bel’s tears away from her face, just like she used to as a child.
‘If there is a love there between you and Joe, you can’t fight it. Our lives are too short and too unpredictable.’
Bel looked into her mother-in-law’s eyes and knew her words were spoken from her heart.
Before she had the chance to say anything else, the all-clear siren sounded out, and Joe got up and hurried over to open up the large wooden doors to the entrance of the basement.
Lucille went bounding back to her mum, as everyone stood up, eager to leave the darkness and get back into the light.
Joe helped the old fishwife up the stairs, as well as the old couple, and then the mum and her son.
Agnes gathered her skirts up and took Lucille’s hand; Arthur followed behind as they climbed the steps one by one.
As they waited for Arthur to make it to the top, Joe turned to Bel and took her quickly in his arms and kissed her. Bel kissed him back.
‘I do love you, Joe,’ she whispered in his ear.
Joe looked at Bel and felt his whole body fill with the most wondrous feeling. An incredible lightness of being.
As they both emerged out of the darkened chamber of the basement, they were temporarily blinded by the midday sunlight. Bel brushed some dust and dirt off her clothes as Joe stood and looked about him. He saw the old couple, and the mother and son, but the old fishwife was nowhere to be seen. It was as if she had just vanished into thin air, even though her wooden barrow with all her wares was still there, positioned just a few feet away from the entrance to the air-raid shelter.
‘Mummy and Doey!’ Lucille exclaimed aloud, positioning herself between Joe and Bel and taking hold of their hands and pulling them forward.
Bel smiled across at Joe at Lucille’s undisguised joy at finally succeeding in getting what she wanted. Her beloved Doey was going to be her father. And it couldn’t happen soon enough. She was beaming from ear to ear like the cat that had got the cream.
As the happy trio started to walk away, something caught the corner of Bel’s eye. She automatically jerked her head to the side just as a little robin redbreast fluttered down on to the wooden handle of the fishwife’s wheelbarrow. Bel stared as its little head twitched round, its black eyes blinking.
No one noticed Bel’s sudden sharp intake of breath. Nor the little bird itself.
Robins had always been Teddy’s favourite birds – had been for as long as Bel could remember. Whenever they were out and he spotted one, he would always point it out to Bel and tell her it was lucky and that she had to make a wish.
Bel fought back the tears as the little bird suddenly flapped its tiny wings and flew away.
This time she didn’t need to make a wish, for it had already been granted.
She had been given the sign she had so desperately wanted.