That she was being extremely edgy Poppy knew. What she couldn’t know was just how far along the road to behaving foolishly her edginess had driven her.
She should have talked about it, she knew. She should have found a sympathetic ear into which she could pour all her misery, her fear and above all, her conviction that David wouldn’t get back safe from this mission. It was natural enough she should be so frightened. Day after day the papers were full of it, the dreadful risks run by the merchantmen and their accompanying convoys who were bringing supplies to the beleaguered station. There were constant exhortations to save food, to use it well and not to hoard it, to be unselfish and caring of other people’s needs and regular attacks on the ‘vermin’ who were the black-marketeers. Poppy felt battered by it, and also felt that much of the progaganda was directed at her personally. Here she was, frantic with anxiety about David at sea with those same merchantmen, while Jessie’s son, her own partner’s son, had filled their cellar with – oh, it didn’t bear thinking about.
But she couldn’t help thinking of it, and in particular dreaming of it. Night after night she had dreams in which she saw David in a ship’s cabin with the water rising inexorably until it submerged him, as she watched paralysed with helplessness, only to wake sweating and trembling to face another day of terror for him. Days in which she had to go to Cable Street and do her usual work, then to the restaurant in the West End and finally back to the canteen at night. She became obsessed with David and his safety, and the more obsessed she became the less she talked about how she felt.
Even to Robin. She had told her that David had gone to sea and been as casual as she could about it, trying not to show the deep river of fear that ran through her and, she told herself, had succeeded in beguiling her. Robin, Poppy assured herself, had no idea how much danger her stepfather faced and therefore wouldn’t worry. It never occurred to her that Robin too might be anxious and hiding her own feelings for fear of upsetting her mother.
She was the same at Cable Street too, refusing to allow Jessie to see anything of what seethed under the surface of her mind all the time, even when she was talking about the business or doing the books, or working out what had to be charged for the day’s food as it was served in the restaurant. That added to the pressures, because the prices had to fluctuate constantly because of the fluctuation in the cost of raw materials and that made some customers complain and behave as though Jessie’s Ltd was making a vast, indeed a profiteer’s, margin for themselves. Added to all of that was Goosey’s constant lamentations about ‘Poor Mr David’ and her constantly repeated hopes that the ‘dear man was all right and keeping himself safe’, which so far she had managed to bear without complaining. But she was dangerously near the end of her rope. How close even she didn’t know.
The morning after the massive raid that left the City a heap of smouldering rubble she left the house in Norland Square a little later than usual because Goosey had been querulous on the subject of laundry.
‘I can’t get them to come to collect it, and getting it back – well, you can imagine. It’ll only be a matter of weeks before there won’t be a laundry service at all and we’ll have to get it all done at home, and how am I to manage that, I ask you? I don’t want to be thought lazy or anything, Mrs Poppy, but there’s only me and no one to help at all and how am I to cope with such things as sheets and shirts as and when and if dear Mr David gets back – ’
That had been the point at which Poppy had cracked and suffered the first spurt of temper. How dare the old woman say ‘
If
Mr David gets back’! The mere sound of the words had sent such a shaft of cold sick terror through Poppy that it left her shaking and she had exploded into rare wrath and shouted something confused about throwing the damned laundry out if
it couldn’t be washed, and not bothering her with such things at this hour of the morning, a reaction which made old Goosey’s chin tremble and slow rheumy tears run down her grooved old cheeks. And that made Poppy feel so dreadful that she had done the only thing she could, and snatched up her bag and her gas mask and gone slamming out of the house. Without her gloves or scarf, so that by the time she got to Cable Street she was almost solid with the cold, for it was a dark and miserable New Year with dirty slush in the streets and icy patches underfoot to add to the hazards of broken pavements and heaped rubble when you got to the East End.
When she arrived at the office and put away her coat and gas mask and fetched herself a cup of hot coffee to thaw her frozen fingers she thought she’d feel better; but the memory of Goosey’s stricken face staring at her as she slammed the front door behind her still haunted her and she had to bend her head to her ledgers early to try to banish it. And then Robin had put her head round the door and interrupted her just as she got to a particularly complex area, and she lost the thread of what she was doing so completely she knew she’d have to start all over again.
But she closed the book patiently, or so she thought and tried to look at her daughter. And was horrified at what she saw.
Robin’s eyes were red, so red that for a moment Poppy thought they were bleeding, but she looked again and realized it was inflammation and she shook her head with disbelief as she gazed at them and at the swollen puffy skin around the eyes which clearly had suffered the same attack as the eyes themselves.
‘Robin, whatever has happened to you?’ she gasped and Robin managed to blink at her and grin.
‘Not as bad as it looks, Ma, though, it’s got me an extra night off so I can’t complain! It was the raid on Sunday night – wasn’t it ghastly? It was the heat and smoke – it made my eyes dreadfully irritated – though it looks worse than it feels. Listen, I must tell you what happened –’ And she launched herself into an excited account of the birth of Wong Tu Sam and her part in it as Poppy sat and listened in increasing horror.
‘Are you telling me that they let you – dammit, that they
sent
you to go out in those conditions? Are you mad, Robin? I thought you’d be reasonably safe there at the London. They’ve
got these raid-proofed wards and you told me Casualty was largely underground – though that didn’t stop that damned incident when you got buried – but to send you
out
in that – that hell of a raid? How could they? And why on earth didn’t you refuse? You must be – ’
Robin’s eyes opened as wide as they could, which wasn’t much. ‘Refuse, Ma? Don’t be daft! As if I would or could. I was thrilled to be chosen – it was marvellous of Sam Landow to ask for me and – ’
‘He should have known better,’ flared Poppy. ‘I thought he was a sensible sort of man – if it had been that wretched Hamish who seems to have no more sense of a man’s duty than – than a flea – it would have been different. But Landow? To take you out in all that – and now look at your eyes. You could have damaged your vision for good, for heaven’s sake – ’
‘My vision will be unimpaired,’ Robin said quietly. ‘This is just a severe reactive conjunctivitis because of the smoke. It’ll be clear by tomorrow. What do you mean about Hamish having no sense of duty?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Robin! These objectors – selfish most of them, that’s all they are – they make a great song and dance about their damned consciences while the rest of us get on with it and take appalling chances. People like the soldiers and the airmen who turn out night after night to fight those damned planes – and at sea –’ Here she had almost choked as her throat had closed on her and had stopped, and Robin had jumped in hard.
‘You’ve no right to say that about Hamish! How many objectors do you know, anyway? Jumping to conclusions like that – I thought better of you. He works like – like a lunatic at that hospital, do you know that? As for taking chances – aren’t we all taking them these days? Why pick on him? He’s a – an honest and caring person, and it’s beastly of you to say such a thing about him – ’
‘I’m not going to argue about him,’ Poppy said, knowing she had been unjust. ‘I’m only concerned about you. For God’s sake, Robin, you’ve got to leave that hospital. You can if you choose to, and I’m telling you it’s high time you made that choice. It’s not fair to me, to the people who love you, to go on like this. It may seem a huge lark to you, but to go out in a raid like that – it was the most lunatic thing I’ve ever heard of – ’
‘It may be,’ Robin said quietly. She had got to her feet now and was staring down at her mother. ‘But it’s the sort of lunatic I am and am going to remain. I am not going to leave the hospital just to give you peace of mind. I know what it’s like to worry – and I know you’re worried about David as well as me, but that’s the way of it these days. Don’t you think I worry over David and over you and Auntie Jessie being here so much? This place – it’s right in the danger area. But you don’t run off and nor does she, and you’ve no right to ask me to, either. So forget it. I’m going back to the hospital right now and I’m going to tell them I don’t want the night off to go home, which I told them I did. I’m going to go on duty tonight, sore eyes or no sore eyes. They’ll find some way to make use of me, no doubt. I’m certainly not coming home to you if all I’m going to get is this sort of attack just because you’re feeling miserable about things. I’ll call you in the morning as usual if I can. And I hope you’ll have the grace to apologize about Hamish when you’ve thought about it. He’s a friend of mine and I don’t intend to tolerate any attacks on my friends, wherever they come from. Goodbye, mother, I’ll talk to you tomorrow if I can.’
And she was gone, leaving Poppy staring at the door she had closed behind her with a firm snap that only just stopped short of being a decided slam and feeling fury and distress in equal measures filling her up; she was almost sick with it. Too much feeling altogether.
After that it was almost inevitable she’d have a row with Jessie too. She was reverberating like an overstrung guitar when she took the books to Jessie, as she usually did at eleven in the morning to go through the day’s accounts, and she bit her lip hard as she went slowly down the familiar stairs. I won’t rise to her, she told herself. I won’t. I’m in a filthy mood and I must control it, I must. Robin was right, damn it. I have no right to attack people just because I’m feeling miserable –
But as soon as she walked into the big preparation room and saw them together her good resolve melted and vanished. The women who did the work of preparation were there rushing around, doing twice their usual stint, because so many hadn’t come in today. That always happened after a bad raid in the area – the news travelled fast, and the women got nervous, only a few stalwarts being prepared to take a chance and come so
near the danger area; the rest came back in a few days when things quietened down a little and all would then be as usual. But today was not a usual day. Jessie was up to her elbows in flour, beating out her strudels unaided, while leaning against the warm oven behind her Bernie stood and watched her. And the sheer rage that lifted in Poppy actually made her vision dazzle for a moment so that when she looked at him she could hardly see him for glitter.
‘That does it,’ she announced loudly. ‘I’ve had as much of this as I can take, Jessie. He’s got to go. He’s got to take his stuff with him and leave the premises. I’ve had all I can cope with and he’s got to go – ’
They both stared at her in the way they sometimes did, showing clearly their likeness to each other. Even now in her old age, when her face had collapsed and her large body had settled into anything but agreeable lines, Jessie still showed signs of the handsome woman she had been, and standing there beside her son with her head up she looked formidable and not at all the adoring aunt and good friend she usually was.
‘Just a minute, Poppy,’ Jessie said very deliberately. ‘This ain’t the time or the place,’ and she began to pound her strudel dough again after casting a warning look over her shoulder at the working women and then back at Poppy. ‘Some other time maybe – ’
‘Right now,’ Poppy said, all control and good sense quite gone, and there was a dangerous note in her voice. ‘I’m not interested in excuses or anything else. I’ve had about as much as I can take of this – this man and his –’ This time caution did catch hold of her by the coat-tails and she bit off what she had meant to say and ended instead, ‘And his affairs. I want him out of here now.’
‘And just who do you think you are?’ Bernie was standing upright now, no longer leaning, his hands in his pockets in what was meant to be a relaxed posture but instead looked very tense indeed. ‘You can’t give my mother orders, and you sure as hell can’t give me any – ’
‘I’m not giving orders,’ Poppy snapped. ‘I’m just telling you. I’ve had enough. If I have to –’ Again she glanced over Jessie’s shoulder at the other women who were agog, while pretending carefully not to be listening. ‘If I have to pass on the problems I have with you to – to other agencies, then that is what I will
do I’m an equal partner in this enterprise and I won’t be tainted by you and what you do. Is that understood?’
‘It’s understood.’ It was Jessie, who was standing tense and very erect now. Her hands were still floury and that made a comic touch, but there was nothing at all comical about her face. She looked tired and drawn and very old. ‘You hear her, Bernie? If you don’t start to do it her way then she’ll find other ways to make you. Fair enough? There are ways, as well you know. It’s decided, dolly. If I had my way I’d help you no matter what, on account of you’re my boy and always will be. But my partner says different –’ And she looked at Poppy so bleakly that some of the anger in her dribbled away, and left her feeling flat and miserable.
‘Oh, Jessie, I don’t want to pull any sort of rank here! It’s just that I’ve told you I’m not happy about – about Bernie’s involvement in the business. Yes, you’re his mother, and I’ve no right to step between you and him. But I have a right to step between him and the
business
. Our business. My business, damn it. Don’t I give as much to it as you do? I know it started out yours, that I’ve given no capital input, but it’s had my heart and soul these many years and – and I can’t live with myself if he’s involved. You must understand me, Jessie.’