Always in My Heart (10 page)

Ron knew it wasn’t really funny – that he shouldn’t be laughing at his poor son – but the relief was such that he was almost hysterical. He couldn’t speak; his stomach ached with it, and he had to hold onto the wall for support as his legs threatened to give way on him.

‘Everything all right here, Ron?’ asked Rita, who was almost unrecognisable in her waterproof coat and trousers and sturdy helmet.

Ron nodded, but was still helpless with laughter as he put out a hand to stop Rita from getting any nearer to the wall. ‘’Tis fine, to be sure,’ he spluttered. ‘Me and Harvey will see to it.’

Rita frowned. ‘See to what, Ron?’ She tried to dodge
past him and peep over the wall. ‘What’s going on over there?’

‘Nothing,’ he said quickly as he steered her away. ‘To be sure, Rita, girl, you’ll not be wanting to take care of this.’

‘Well, if you’re sure, Ron,’ she muttered. ‘But it’s all a bit irregular.’

That almost set Ron off again, and he had to bite his lip. ‘Irregular – aye – that it is,’ he rasped. ‘But ’tis best you leave it to me.’

Rita shot him a look that told him this wouldn’t be the end of it, and then turned to make her way through the rubble to report to John.

‘Has she gone?’ The hoarse whisper came from the other side of the wall.

Ron hoisted himself onto the wall and sat astride it. ‘Aye, but she’ll be at me to tell her what happened here.’

Jim was quite a sight as he huddled, knees clasped to his chest against the wall, the dog anxiously pawing and snuffling him. His face was black with soot, his hair was singed, there was a lump on his forehead the size of an egg, and his humour had clearly deserted him. Naked as the day he’d been born, he had only the remnants of his tattered shirt to protect his modesty.

He nudged Harvey away and glared up at Ron, daring him to start laughing again. ‘You’re to say nothing to anyone about this, Da, or I’ll murder you, so I will.’

Ron made a concerted effort to keep a straight face
as he dropped down into the deserted strip of land that backed onto the cinema, and took charge of the anxious dog. ‘How the divil did you end up like this?’ he asked in amazement.

‘I got blown off the lav,’ Jim replied grimly.

Ron fought to quell the laughter but he was unable to stop it. He collapsed against the wall and slid to the ground as the tears rolled down his cheeks. ‘Ach,’ he gasped, ‘to be sure, Jim Reilly, you’ll not be suffering from the constipation for a while.’

‘It’s not bloody funny,’ Jim snapped. ‘How would you feel if you were blown to high heaven and left stark naked in the middle of the High Street? I only just managed to get over the wall before John Hicks and his lot arrived.’

‘I can’t say I’ve ever been in such a position,’ Ron replied as he blew his nose and dried his eyes. ‘Though there was the time I got shot in the arse by the Germans, and I—’

‘Will you give it a rest, Da? I’m freezing to death here, with a headache the size of a house – and you’re going on about your effing shrapnel.’

Ron didn’t take offence. He was used to people not wanting to hear how he was a martyr to the moving shrapnel that was still lodged somewhere near his spine. ‘Aye, I can see you’re cold,’ he murmured as he took off his heavy coat, shook some of the water off it, and wrapped it round his son’s shoulders.

Jim wrinkled his nose as he slid his arms into the sleeves and drew the coat over his nakedness. ‘Ach,
what the hell have you got in this thing? It stinks to high heaven.’

‘’Tis better to stink than to be bare-arsed,’ Ron replied nonchalantly as the moon appeared from behind the scudding clouds. It was only then that he noticed the cuts and bruises on his son’s body and was immediately remorseful. ‘I’m sorry I laughed, son,’ he murmured. ‘Are ye bad hurt?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ said Jim with a glower. ‘Me back’s as sore as hell, and I think the hairs on me arse have been singed. But for all that, there’s nothing broken.’

Ron was glad to hear it, and would have said something sympathetic if he hadn’t heard voices and the crunch of boots approaching the wall from the other side. ‘We’d better get going before they find us,’ he said. ‘Can you walk?’

Jim nodded and got to his feet. Holding the coat tightly wrapped around him, he kept in the darker shadows by the wall as he set off with Harvey over the scrubland.

Ron followed closely behind him, hearing him hiss and curse as his bare feet found brambles, hidden bits of flint and abandoned shards of pottery. ‘Ride on me back, son,’ he muttered as they reached the deeper shadows of the trees.

‘Ach, Da, I’m too heavy.’

‘Just do as you’re told for once, Jim Reilly, or ye’ll be crippled, so you will.’

Jim clambered reluctantly onto his father’s back,
and Ron staggered a bit under his weight. ‘What the hell have you been eating, boy?’ he panted as he set off.

‘I told you I was too heavy,’ Jim protested.

‘To be sure, ’tis all that hot air you’re blowing. If you stopped talking it would be easier, so it would.’

They mumbled and grumbled at each other as they headed for home, yet the weight of his son on his back, and the feel of his arms about his neck, was no burden to Ron, but a gift from God – for it was only by a miracle that his son had been saved today.

Peggy and Mrs Finch had heard the explosions coming one after the other and guessed that the tip-and-run had hit the High Street. Peggy was momentarily worried about Jim and then decided she was being silly, for he would have gone to the shelter like everyone else. He was, no doubt, sitting down there with his cigarette and paper, enjoying a few moments of respite until he had to return to work.

Peggy still didn’t feel quite up to the mark, but she hoped that once she could get indoors and sit by the fire, she’d perk up a bit. She had definitely done too much on her first day out of bed, but then, she reasoned, anything was better than lying about doing absolutely nothing, and she had to get back into the swing of things sometime.

When the all-clear sounded, Peggy helped Mrs Finch out of the nest of pillows which had been tightly packed around her to stop her falling out of the deckchair when she nodded off. With the baby in
one arm and a steadying hand beneath Mrs Finch’s elbow, they slowly walked back up the garden path and took it in turn to use the outside lav. Two hours in a cold, dank shelter with little to do but drink tea had its effects, and although neither woman liked using this dark, odious lav, it was very handy at times like these.

They finally made it to the kitchen and Peggy checked the blackout curtains were closed before she switched on the light. ‘If you could hold Daisy a minute, I’ll stoke the fire and warm up the room,’ she said.

Mrs Finch frowned as she took Daisy into her arms. ‘You’ll leave the broom where it is,’ she said firmly. ‘I only swept in here this morning.’

Peggy grinned. The hearing aid was obviously not working again. She cheerfully stoked the fire, filled the kettle and put it on the hob. The air raid hadn’t affected the water or the electricity, which was a blessing – but it was better to put the evening meal together while she could, for there were constant power and water cuts now, and one never knew when they were going to happen, or for how long.

Shedding her overcoat, she looked in the big vegetable basket on the larder floor and found two cauliflowers, a couple of sprouting onions, a rather wrinkled pair of parsnips, a small turnip and several large, but whiskery potatoes. Taking her wrap-round pinny from the hook on the back of the door, she set about enthusiastically preparing a vegetable stew. A
stock cube and a dash of Lea & Perrins would give it a kick and make up for the lack of meat.

Peggy was quite enjoying herself – it was good to be doing something useful again, and her kitchen was warming up nicely. She had just finished putting all the vegetables in the big pot when Daisy decided she was hungry and began to squirm and whimper.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ Peggy murmured as she hastily thickened the stock cube gravy with the smallest teaspoon of flour, and added it to the vegetables. Once the heavy pot was in the range’s slow oven, she wiped her hands on her apron, tossed it aside, and reached for Daisy.

‘I’ll feed and change her in the other room,’ she said.

Cordelia clucked with impatience. ‘You can do all that in here, in the warm,’ she said. ‘We’re both women, for heaven’s sake.’

Peggy giggled, but she had to silently admit to feeling a bit embarrassed about breastfeeding Daisy in front of the older woman. So, after she’d changed Daisy’s sodden nappy, she draped one of the baby blankets over her shoulder, thereby covering her exposed breast as Daisy latched onto her nipple.

Cordelia bumbled about making a pot of tea, and once they both had a cup by their elbow, started to rummage through her enormous knitting bag. ‘I thought I’d make Ron a new jumper from the ones you threw out in the summer,’ she said. ‘He’s looking decidedly ragged these days – more like an old tramp than a respectable family man.’

Peggy smiled at the memory of Cordelia’s previous disastrous attempts. ‘He scrubs up well, though,’ she reminded her. ‘When he’s in his suit, and he’s had his hair cut and eyebrows trimmed, he still looks quite handsome.’

Cordelia giggled. ‘It’s getting him to sit still long enough so that Fran can trim his brows that’s the problem, but I suspect he quite likes a fuss being made of him – and I’m sure Rosie appreciates it too.’

They lapsed into companionable silence as the fire crackled in the range and the aroma of stewing vegetables began to seep into the room. Daisy finished feeding and fell asleep in Peggy’s arms, and she was content to keep her there and enjoy these precious moments of quiet before everyone came home. There would be ructions, she knew, for she’d been under strict instructions to stay in bed at least ten days after Daisy’s birth. No doubt Fran and Suzy would get into a huddle with Alison and she’d be for the high jump – but, she decided, she would do things her way.

The front door was suddenly opened to let a howling gale into the house before it was slammed shut again. Peggy looked up as she heard Ron and Jim’s voices in the hall and waited in some trepidation for them to enter the kitchen.

Ron and Harvey sauntered in as if they didn’t have a care in the world. While Harvey sniffed the baby – he liked babies – and then collapsed with a grunt of pleasure in front of the fire, Ron pulled off his woolly hat and rubbed his hands through his thick, greying
hair. ‘I suppose the air raid had you out of bed, eh, Peggy?’

‘You could say that,’ she replied as she eyed him with deep suspicion. He was up to something, she knew the signs. ‘I thought I heard Jim come in with you?’

‘Aye, that he did, Peg, but he’s takin’ a wee rest. You see,’ he said with a hint of a snigger, ‘he’s had a bit of an afternoon, so he has.’

Peggy rose from the chair and deposited Daisy carefully in the old family pram, covered her with a blanket and then turned to face Ron again. She folded her arms. ‘What have you two been up to?’ she asked darkly. ‘And don’t bother lying to me, Ronan Reilly, I can always tell when you’re hiding something.’

‘’Twas not me had the adventure,’ protested Ron. He stuffed the woolly hat into his trouser pockets and reached for the teapot. ‘He’s feeling a wee bit sorry for himself,’ he said, clearly trying not to laugh. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you asked him what’s happened.’

She frowned as he refused to look at her. ‘Have you both been drinking?’ she asked, her tone ominously even – a warning to anyone who knew her that she was not to be messed with.

‘Not at all,’ he replied, his eyes wide and innocent as he looked at her over the teacup.

Peggy turned on her heel and marched into the hall. ‘I don’t know what you and Ron have been up to, Jim Reilly,’ she said as she reached for the door handle, ‘but I aim to get to the bottom …’

Words failed her as the door swung open to reveal a naked and rather battered Jim examining his backside in her dressing-table mirror.

‘To be sure, Peg, me darling, I’ve burned me arse something terrible. Can you see how bad it is?’

Peggy shut the door, eyed his blackened face and cuts and bruises, and then examined the reddened buttocks and singed hair. ‘What the hell have you been doing, Jim?’

He eyed her mournfully and told her about the bomb blowing him off the lavatory seat.

Peggy tried very hard to keep a straight face as she murmured words of sympathy and took another look at his reddened bottom. ‘Well, you’ll find sitting down a bit painful for a while,’ she managed. ‘I’ll get you some cream to put on it.’ Her voice wavered as the giggles threatened.

Jim turned away in disgust, grabbed her hand-mirror, and tried to examine his nether regions more closely. ‘To be sure I’d’ve expected some sympathy from me wife,’ he muttered. ‘Why is it that everyone thinks it’s funny when a man’s been almost blown to bits and has a sore arse to prove it?’

‘It’s not funny at all,’ she spluttered as she fought to hold back the laughter.

Jim glowered as he put down the hand-mirror, and then a twinkle came into his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched. ‘It was a hell of a shock,’ he admitted. ‘One minute I was reading me paper and the next I was flying. I came to without a stitch on.’

He began to chuckle. ‘I felt a right fool – and when I heard the fire engines coming I clambered over the wall and hid.’

Peggy saw him wince as he pulled on his dressing gown and carefully sat on the bed beside her. Sober now, she reached for his hand. ‘I’m just so relieved you weren’t killed,’ she murmured.

He put his arm round her and held her close as he kissed the top of her head. ‘I can see the funny side of it now,’ he admitted, ‘and once I’ve had a long soak in the bath I’ll be fine. But you know what this means, don’t you, Peg?’

She looked back at him and shook her head.

‘With the cinema gone and me stash of fags and whisky blown sky high, I’m out of money as well as a job. Unless I can find something worthwhile, the army will soon send me my call-up papers.’

Peggy snuggled closer to his side, her head on his shoulder as her thoughts whirled and the worries increased. ‘Let’s not think about that now,’ she said eventually. ‘You’re alive, that’s all that matters.’