Angel of the North (24 page)

Mr Elsworth said something, and Terry began to laugh. His laugh was so infectious that the whole family started laughing. Laughing too, although she hadn’t heard the joke, Marie looked at
him in wonder. How long was it since Margaret had died? Six months. At the time, she’d thought he’d never laugh again and now here he was, enjoying a joke. When the laughter abated, and
the flood of talk dwindled to a trickle Terry turned to her, his face serious.

‘I heard you’d been bombed out,’ he said, ‘and your mother’s in hospital again.’

‘That’s right,’ she nodded.

‘Lost everything?’

‘Everything but a pair of pyjamas and a nightie.’

Looking rather awkward, and with a faint blush rising to his cheeks he proffered his carrier bags. ‘I don’t want to offend – just say if you don’t want them – but
these might be some use to you. Sixty-six clothing coupons for a year aren’t much for somebody who’s been bombed out, not when you need fourteen for a mac, and seven for a decent frock.
These aren’t doing any good hanging in the wardrobe, and you were about the same size, you and Margaret.’

Inside one of the bags Marie found Margaret’s best coat. In the other two she found blouses, skirts, a pair of slacks, three frocks and a couple of good cardigans together with underwear
and two pairs of nylons, never worn.

She looked up at him and tears sprang to her eyes. ‘It’s a good job sometimes we don’t know what’s in front of us, isn’t it? Who’d have thought when you got
married that it would come to this?’

‘You’re looking very smart. Haven’t I seen them somewhere before?’ Nancy said, when Marie joined her at the Elsworths’ gate wearing a cotton dress
and a cardigan.

‘Terry came the other day and gave me a lot of Margaret’s stuff.’

‘How did he know where to find you?’

‘I don’t know. Word gets round, I suppose, and the firemen are everywhere, talking to everybody.’

‘How’s he getting on?’

‘Quite well, I think. He was laughing and joking with Mr Elsworth, anyway.’

‘Is he courting again?’

‘I don’t know, I didn’t ask.’

‘Hmm.’ Nancy lapsed into a thoughtful silence for a while, then asked, ‘Are you feeling any better?’

‘A bit. My ribs aren’t hurting quite so much and I’m not having so many headaches. My ears are a bit better as well,’ Marie said.

They walked slowly to the end of Park Avenue, and crossed the road into Pearson Park. There was nobody about.

‘Have you heard from Minty?’ Marie jibed.

‘Very funny. No, I haven’t. Have you seen anything of George?’

‘I saw him on Tuesday night, when I went round to tell them how my mam was doing. Aunt Edie says Mam’s to stay with them when she gets out of hospital, until we can find somewhere to
rent.’

‘The council will put you in a caravan, I expect. You can’t get a house for love nor money, from what I’ve been told. What about George? Did you tell him I’m
back?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘He didn’t say much. In fact, he didn’t say anything. But he turned as white as a sheet.’

‘Right.’ Nancy took a minute or two to digest this information, then suggested: ‘Let’s walk through the park to Beverley Road, and then bus it down to Prospect Street,
and see what they’re dishing up at the so-called British Restaurant they’ve set up for the workers there. I’ll treat you to a cup of tea and a sandwich. It’ll save on the
rations, anyway.’

Marie hesitated, very dubious about going into town, where they risked bumping into George. She certainly didn’t want him to see her with Nancy. If it hadn’t been for George she
might have died, and he’d been good to her after her discharge from hospital. He’d see her friendliness towards Nancy as a poor return for his trouble, if not as outright treachery. But
then, she thought, unless she was going to cut her best friend out of her life completely, he was bound to see them together some time. And she had her forms to take in to the Relief Office.

The centre of Hull was a burned-out shambles, with shops and offices almost razed to the ground. The jagged and skewed remnants of once beautiful buildings showed in stark
relief against the blue sky. Prospect Street was little more than a heap of rubble. The roofs were off many buildings, including the beautiful old church.

‘It’s enough to break your heart, isn’t it?’ Marie said. Everywhere she looked, the ruin of some once-loved building met her eye. The loss of her home was the worst
thing, but with the destruction of her city she felt as if the whole of her past life had been wiped out. They stopped in front of what was left of the infirmary. Its impressive stone façade
and massive Corinthian columns were still there, but not much else. ‘What a sight! Just look at it! Open to the skies, and all the windows blown out.’

‘I was stunned when I got back from London and saw it all. My God, I’m glad I wasn’t there when that happened. That night at the end of March was terrifying enough.’

‘It makes you want to weep. We had a good life there, before the war. Remember the tennis and fencing clubs? I might have got good at fencing, if they hadn’t requisitioned our
recreation hall for an air-raid shelter.’

‘Ah well, the war soon put a stop to a lot of things. Remember drinking tea at the Kardomah Café on our afternoons off? There’ll be no more of that, either.’

‘We were in clover, if we had but known it. Now no home, and no hospital either. It’s demoted to a first-aid station.’ Marie said. ‘What will you do, Nance? Will you try
to get your job back?’

Nancy pulled a face. ‘I might. I can’t say I’m looking forward to the interview with Matron, though; I don’t think she’ll be very impressed with me, upping and
leaving without notice like I did. I keep trying to think of a good enough excuse, but it’s not easy.’

‘No, you’d need some imagination to dream anything up that could gloss over that. I doubt if “I lost my head over an out-and-out conman, Matron,” would cut much ice after
you’d left a ward full of patients with no one to nurse them – but it might work, especially since they’re hard up for staff. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’

‘You’re a right Job’s comforter, you are. Well, I’d better find something, I suppose, before the government finds something for me. I might go in for typing. I’m
always seeing advertisements for typists.’

‘Except they usually want people who can type, and you can’t. You’d better go and see Matron, make a clean breast of it, and get back into nursing and stick at it, this time.
I’d love to go back myself, but it depends how my mother gets on.’

‘But where would I end up working, now there’s practically no infirmary? And why should you bother? You’re marrying Chas on his next leave, aren’t you?’ Nancy
asked, holding open the door of the restaurant for Marie to enter.

‘So this is a British Restaurant,’ Marie said, looking round the room echoing with the clatter of crockery and cutlery, the scraping of chairs and the chatter of people, and
Forces Favourites
playing in the background. ‘Fancy title for a glorified canteen, if you ask me.’

Nancy said, ‘You should have seen the place Monty took me to in London. That was worth calling a restaurant.’ Tears suddenly filled her eyes, and she pulled out a handkerchief to dab
her reddening nose. ‘I really loved him, Marie. I believed every word he told me, but I know now he was just stringing me along. I’ve looked for a letter every day since he walked out,
both at the flat and since I came back home. He knows where my mother lives. There was nothing to stop him writing. I’ve hoped and prayed he’d get in touch, but now I know I’ll
never see him again. I’ve finally stopped kidding myself. And he’s got all our savings – mine and George’s – he’s got my mother’s rent, he’s even got
my engagement ring.’

‘Oh, Nancy! You never gave him that as well?’

‘I didn’t give him it. He took it, and that was when he started being nasty to me – as soon as he’d got everything I had. What a mess.’

‘Well, there’s the rent he owes your mother to stop him writing to her address,’ Marie said, very quietly. She could have added that Monty had been sweet-talking her mother as
well, but Mrs Harding had probably already told her. If Nancy at last realized what a fool she’d been, there was no point rubbing it in.

They sat down to a cup of tea and a boiled egg sandwich, and had just begun a conversation with some ancillary workers from the infirmary when George walked through the door. He saw Nancy, and
caught Marie’s eye, and the look of reproach on his face made her wish she were a million miles away. Then he stopped in his tracks, and she watched him physically pull himself together and
turn and walk out of the door. Nancy jumped up to follow him.

‘Don’t!’ Marie grabbed her wrist, trying to hold her back.

‘Why not?’

‘Let him come to you, and he will come, Nancy. See him on your home ground, where it can’t get too—’

But Nancy snatched her arm free, and went after George.

‘Honestly, Nance . . .’ Marie called after her, but a few people were already looking at them, and Nancy was too far away for any more warnings about how hurt George was, and how
justifiably bitter.

Marie sat down again and drank her tea, glossing over the little scene as best she could for the benefit of the curious ancillary workers, who fortunately soon left to go back to work. She
waited for half an hour after that, but Nancy didn’t reappear, so in the end she gave her up and went to find the Relief Office, where she sat fretting about both Nancy and George.
‘Don’t get involved in other people’s business,’ Chas had told her, and it was good advice, but he hadn’t told her how you can help it when the people themselves
involve you, and one of them happens to be your best friend, and the other is someone you’re indebted to for your very life. She had ample time to worry about everything else during that long
and dreary wait, from her mother and the destruction of her home to what might be happening to Chas, to guilt at being a burden and expense to the Elsworths. She sat there for hours beside a throng
of other bombed-out, displaced people, all with similar stories and similar anxieties, all waiting to tell their tales of woe to the Relief Officer, and fill in the proper government forms, which
demanded information that as often as not had gone up in smoke, in the ruins of their homes.

‘I really don’t know what to do about Hannah,’ Marie overheard Mrs Elsworth tell her husband as she descended the stairs the following morning.
‘She’s such a good worker it will be a pity to lose her but . . .’

The sitting-room door clicked shut, and the rest of the conversation was inaudible. Their discussion was evidently intended to be private, so Marie went through to the kitchen to get a drink of
water, then out into the garden to sit in the sun. Considering what other people in the city were facing, Mrs Elsworth’s servant problem got little sympathy from Marie. The house was massive,
and cleaning it to Mrs Elsworth’s exacting standards would be a full-time job for anyone, but doing your own housework wasn’t the end of the world, even for women who spent hours of
their time working with the WVS. Mrs Elsworth would just have to lower her standards and cut a few corners, like most people had to do these days, and as far as Marie was concerned, the less she
saw of Hannah, the better she’d be pleased.

It wasn’t many minutes before the Elsworths came out to join her in the garden.

Mr Elsworth took the hoe, and began slicing the tops of the few weeds between the vegetable rows.

Mrs Elsworth sat down beside Marie.

‘I was just coming downstairs when you were talking about Hannah leaving. Don’t worry. I’m getting better, and if she can’t do it, I’ll help,’ Marie said.
‘I’ll help anyway. I’d rather pull my weight than sit around doing nothing.’

‘Your hearing must be all right, if you heard that! Well, there’s nothing really decided yet,’ Mrs Elsworth hedged. ‘And I’m not at all worried about the work.
I’ve no doubt there are others who would be glad of a couple of hours every day if it came to that, and if not I’d do it myself.’

‘What are you worried about, then?’

‘Nothing,’ Mrs Elsworth said, with a face that robbed her words of all conviction. ‘I’m not worried about anything. But whatever happens, you won’t be doing
housework. You won’t be fit for anything but the lightest jobs for quite some time.’

‘I’m getting better every day.’

‘Good. We want you to continue getting better; so that’s all you’ve got to concentrate on for the moment. If you’re fit enough to look after your mother when she gets out
of hospital, that’ll be enough. We’ll move you into one of the larger bedrooms, so you can be together.’

‘You mean you’re saying she can stay here, Mrs Elsworth?’

‘Of course she can stay here. We’ll be in-laws soon. She’s practically family. She’ll want to be with her own daughter during her convalescence, and we’re not short
of space, are we?’

‘Thank you. That’s a weight off my mind. Some of the people who were in the Relief Office yesterday were saying you just can’t get a house to rent. Half the houses in the city
have been damaged. There’s nothing. Not that I could afford the rent if there were.’

‘Don’t worry, Charles will help you with that. You should be able to get something, once you’re married.’

On Sunday, the family were going to spend the day with Mr Elsworth’s younger brother and his large and boisterous family in Hedon. Marie cried off, saying she
didn’t yet feel fit enough for such high-spirited company. She would stay behind, and write some letters, principally to Charles and Pam. After the family had gone, she went into the garden
shed and helped herself to their hoe. She certainly did not want to go down to the Maltbys’ and have to confront George to get her own. It would be two weeks tomorrow since that awful night
they’d been bombed out, and she was beginning to feel a bit better – but better or not, she’d have to get up to that allotment or all the veg her dad had taken the trouble to
plant would be choked with weeds, or dead for lack of water, and since the loss of their home it was all that she and her mother had left. She walked up Newland Avenue with the hoe resting on her
shoulder, thankfully in the opposite direction to both Clumber Street and George, and Duesbury Street and Nancy.