Crossing the River (16 page)

DECEMBER 1939

I’ve made a friend. Sandra. She’s just had a kid. A boy, Tommy. I don’t know if she thought calling him Tommy was funny or something. I’ve never mentioned it. Her husband has already been called up and gone off. He lives in a photograph on the mantelpiece. There are two leaves to the frame. In the other leaf is a poem:

That’s all that’s left of him at present. This picture and when she talks about him. Which she doesn’t do all that much. She invited me over for tea. I can see you’re a bit lost around here. And Len. Well, he’s not the type to go out of his way to introduce you around, now is he. She used to work for Len in the shop. But then she fell pregnant and got wed. I think it was in that order. She offered me a treat. Two Rich Tea biscuits. I expect you have plenty of these in the shop whenever you want them, but for me it’s a treat. It’s a big thing. Don’t get much sweet stuff these days. She sat me down. They say people are queuing in town, trying to beat the system. And that doctors and dentists are hard to come by. Not just panel ones, private too. And that some people are getting mail a week late. I looked at her and wondered if Len had only come after me because he needed somebody to replace her in the shop. Maybe I’m being a bit silly, I thought. Maybe I’m reading too much into everything. I don’t know. At least I’ve made a friend. Sod Len and his pencil-thin moustache. He’s happy now that he’s got some mug to work for him in the shop. He’s happy now that he’s able to leave me in the shop and go to the pub with his mates. Are you listening to me, love? Sandra stared at me. You do tend to dream a, little, don’t you. I’ve been wondering if I should grow my hair like Veronica Lake. Or if I should just stick to the normal two and sixpenny shampoo and set. I smiled at her. They censor my husband’s letters, can you believe that? The kid started to cry. Tommy. Tommy started to play up. She picked it up and held it in her arms. Then she rocked it back and forth until it began to gurgle like it was choking. Tommy’s laughing, she said. Here, do you want to hold him? I held up the Rich Tea biscuit. I’d love to, but I’ve got my hands full at the moment. Got any of your own, have you? Sandra’s not much past twenty or so. About my age. I could see that now. Don’t look like that, she said. I had to get married and get started. Women in my family go off early. But you’ve plenty of time yet. Nice of her to say it. Polite of her. She looked sad now. You don’t know what it’s like when the postman passes the door. The day is ruined. Absolutely ruined. She’s the only person I know in the village apart from Len. Long, thin, blonde hair. At first I thought I saw blackened roots, then I realized she was just in some shadow. Why do I have to be so bloody critical? So what if she bleaches her hair? What business is it of mine? I think I’m jealous of her looks. But I do want to be generous to her. Len is a quiet bloke, she says. In his own way he’s kind, but it’ll take you a while to get to know him properly. Now I resent her. I don’t like being told about my own husband. But she feels as though she’s helping me. Len hasn’t bothered to introduce me to anybody. After all, Sandra has taken it upon herself to come into the shop and find me. A lot of the other girls have gone, she says. There are not many of us left. ATS, munitions work, they’ve nearly all gone. But some Land Army Girls are due to come here. And then there’s us. Mothers. I’m not a mother, I say. Sandra smiles. But I suppose working in the shop is vital work, isn’t it? They won’t put you in the factories, will they? No, I say. I’ve been classified. Len’s disabled. He can’t manage by himself, so I’ll not be going in the factories. Well, we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other better, then. I’m glad there’s somebody around like you. I thought it’d only be me and a few others. And to be honest, most of them are just interested in your business. They’re not interested in you, just in what you’re up to. I don’t have much time for that. Neither do I, I said. Neither do I. She looked at me funny. My mind started to race. I’d been looking right at her. Perhaps she thought I meant her. I couldn’t think of anything to say which would convince her that I wasn’t talking about her. So I just smiled back. I looked at her with a stupid grin painted on my face. I’m sorry, I said to myself. I don’t know how to behave. I like you. I’ve never been much good with people. She handed Tommy to me. Then she went to fill the kettle again. I knew she was watching me from the kitchen, watching me holding her child, worried that I might do something daft with him. I held him awkwardly. And then I heard the water splashing against the enamel as she started to fill the kettle. But I knew that she was still watching me. I turned around and she beamed at me. Had enough of Tommy? she asked. No. I held Tommy close to me. I’ll be all right.

NEW YEAR’S DAY 1940

Len and his mate Stan borrowed a car so they could drive into town. On business, they said. Drinking business more like, but I went with them so I could see my mother. I told them that I’d meet them outside the bank at six. Len didn’t want to see her, but it didn’t matter. There was no need for either of them to pretend. They’d passed that stage. At about five-thirty, I began to walk back into town, and I noticed that all the iron railings had been ripped out. By the park. Front gardens, everywhere. Together with the pots and pans, that they punctured as soon as you handed them over, the railings would be used for Spitfires. Things were changing. We’d been told that in a week or so we’d have to start rationing bacon, ham, sugar and butter. Customers would only be able to get them with a ration book. I stood by myself in the cold and shivered. The moon was full and the sky was bright with stars. There didn’t seem much point to the blackout. I looked up and wondered if Hitler had found a way to turn out the stars over his country at night. It was after seven. Len was late. Bladdered, I imagined. Not for the first time in my life I felt the humiliation of being abandoned.

MARCH 1940

The cold of winter has insisted on hanging on a few weeks past its time. Sandra has been looking increasingly lost and unhappy. These days I go around to visit her two or three times a week. She can’t breast-feed Tommy any more because she says her milk’s all dried up due to worry. He won’t take the bottle, so she has to spoon-feed him, which can take hours. Tommy has become an increasingly noisy problem, but I’ve grown to like him, and to even want to hold him. I never thought that I would want to hold a baby. Sandra seems to like this. The fact that I literally take him off her hands. Today she sat me down and gave me a cup of tea. And then she told me that she was pregnant. I looked at her but said nothing. She was expecting me to say something. That much was clear. She was expecting a reaction of some kind. Horror. Laughter. Something. But I said nothing. Did you hear me? I said I think I’m pregnant. No, in fact I know I’m pregnant. I’m nearly three months gone. She didn’t have to tell me how far gone she was, for I knew that it wasn’t him. I had no idea who it was, but it was clear that she was hoping that I might ask. But I said nothing. I just sipped at my tea. A small mouthful at a time. Don’t you want to know who? I was looking out of the window now. As usual, nothing and nobody in the streets. A perverse part of me longed for her to tell me that it was Len. But it wasn’t. It’s Len’s mate, Joyce. Terry. The farmer. She didn’t have to say who Terry was. I wasn’t so stupid that I couldn’t figure that out for myself. Sandra’s voice began to break.

He gives me extra things for Tommy. Like a baby sister or brother, I said. I couldn’t help myself. Do you think it’s funny? whispered an incredulous Sandra. She sounded hurt. I was sorry I’d spoken. I apologized. Sandra paused. I don’t know what I’m going to do, she said. I’m not going backstreet. I don’t want to get rid of it. I’m too frightened to. And I don’t want to marry him. Does he want to marry you? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I hope not, I said. Doesn’t seem to me a good enough reason to commit marriage. A bun in the oven. God, she looked pathetic. Helpless. Child in her belly. Tommy in my arms. Cup of tea in her hands. Why didn’t she just keep her legs shut? It’s easy enough to do. Not exactly difficult, is it? I suppose I was lonely. She answers the question without me having to ask it. I suppose I was lonely and stupid. I should have used something. Yes, I said. Like self-control. Now she was hurt. I could see it on her face. I was sorry I said that. There was a pause and then I continued. I think you’d better write to him. Let him know before he gets back. What do you think? I think so, she says. But what if he doesn’t want to come back? What’s Tommy going to do for a father? I pointed out the obvious. That this is a war. That if Tommy ends up without a father, he won’t be the first and he won’t be the last. That’s the truth, Sandra. And then she started to cry. I made some enquiries, she said. Her voice quivered. But you can’t put it up for adoption without your husband’s permission. I’m done for. Dusk approached. The sky got darker. I could see it was freezing out. I would soon have to go and help Len close up the shop. Always a last-minute rush with those coming in from the town. And we’ve just started to ration meat. I didn’t want to leave her on her own in such a state, but what could I do? I touched her arm. Sandra, I said. Write to him. Tell him. It will make you feel better to know that he knows. And they can get leave. Compassionate leave. Then he can come home and the two of you can sort out whatever it is that you’ve got to sort out. It’ll be better that way. I’ve not told anybody else, she says. So I’m the only one who knows? And the doctor. At the clinic in town. It was getting darker. The shadows were lengthening. I think you should tell him, I said.

MARCH 1940

Last night Len beat me. After he came back from the pub. Drunk. Once he’s got a mood on, that’s it. He’ll find a reason. It didn’t hurt all that much. It happened so quickly. And I understood why he was doing it. Maybe that’s why it didn’t hurt all that much. He was just working off the embarrassment of not having a uniform. Not even one of the silly bugger Home Guard uniforms. Civvy Street guilt. He was playing at being a man. Secretly drumming on me behind closed doors. But I told him. The next time he raises his hand to me it’ll be the last time. Drunk or sober. It’ll be the last time.

MAY 1940

France has gone. It looks like we’ll have to fight to the bitter end by ourselves. Everyone’s talking of invasion. And what to do. They say you’ve got to stay at home. If you’re out when they come, you mustn’t run or you’ll be machine-gunned from the air like they did in Holland and Belgium. It says, in the
Star
, that you’re not to supply the Germans with food, petrol or maps. And if you see anything at all suspicious you’re to go straight to the police. They sometimes talk to you like you’re mental.

FEBRUARY 1943

I’ve been thinking about it all week, but trying to pretend that it wasn’t a problem. However, this morning I had to face up to the truth. I didn’t have anything to wear to the dance. And I simply didn’t have the money to go out and buy anything new. A plain dress, some flat shoes and a coat would have to do just nicely, thank you very much. This evening I stood in front of the mirror. When I smiled it took the lines a few moments less to set, and a few moments longer to disappear once I put my face right again. It wasn’t my imagination. I didn’t have to be told. I pulled on my coat and picked up my handbag, then I walked through the village towards the hall. As I approached, I saw a soldier standing by the chipped gate. Come for the dance, ma’am? I hid my ring. Yes, I’ve come for the dance. I panicked. Am I the only one? Have I got the time right? He offered me gum. No thank you, I said. I recognized him, I recognized them all from the shop. And they all knew me. I don’t suppose they knew my name, but they knew my face. I went inside. There were a few more soldiers in the grounds. Walking around in pairs. Laughing. They seemed odd in this grand place. But then I realized that I probably seemed odd here too. The toffs have moved on for the war. Big of them, I thought. Hey, ma’am. Looking for the dance? I nodded. Over there. He was a military policeman. He pointed with his rifle. I hesitated. Hell, just go straight in. So I did. I walked across the lawn – like a real madam – then up the stairs and into a big room. The first thing that I saw was the food. They had stuff on the table that even I hadn’t seen in years. Lemons and grapefruits. Tins of chocolate. Life Savers. Beef steaks. Salami. Sliced tinned peaches. One of them took my coat. May I, he said. Thank you, I said. So polite, I thought. I looked up and saw a few ATS girls from the next village, and some Land Army girls, and a few married ones, all sitting in a line looking frightened. I decided that I’d better go and sit with them. So I went over and sat next to a Land Army girl who was in uniform. She smiled at me but made a point of not saying anything. Then they began to play gramophone records, which didn’t make that much sense to me because they were all standing and we were all sitting. What were we supposed to do? In the corner I saw the officer who’d come into the shop and talked to me about them. He looked over and waved. Hello, Duchess. I stared back through him. I was rather proud of this stare. I could see that it upset him somewhat, but he wasn’t sure what to do. I kept staring through him. The Land Army girl next to me came to life and wanted to know if everything was all right. I told her, yes, that everything was all right. Why shouldn’t it be? I see, said the girl. And still nobody would dance to the gramophone records. And then I noticed that the band were climbing up on to the small stage. They’d pushed some boxes up tight and tacked a cloth drape around the edges, but it looked proper. It looked like a real job, not just something they’d slung together. And then they began to play. It sounded great, but it made everybody feel uneasy. A sitting line of us facing a standing crowd of them. And then I found myself on my feet and walking towards the two who asked me, the tall one and the shorter one. I asked the tall one if he’d like to dance. He smiled at me nervously. I could see the gap in his teeth in the middle of the bottom row. It’s usually at the top, I thought. Where people have a gap in their teeth. It’s unusual to see somebody with a gap in their teeth at the bottom. But that was all right, it was different and I liked that. He put one hand on my shoulder and held out the other. I stretched my arm out to meet it, and he steered me backwards and into the space that was the dance floor. A foxtrot. Over his shoulder I could see everyone looking on. I could see it on their faces. They were shocked. And maybe a bit jealous, but I didn’t care. And then, one by one, the soldiers found the courage to go over to the girls and soon they were all dancing. My partner leant forward and whispered into my ear. Looks like you’ve started the party. You oughta be proud of yourself. I didn’t say anything. You don’t seem shy and uneasy like the rest of them. I still didn’t say anything. I just listened. Listened to him and listened to the music. You from round here? Why? I asked. Well, I was just wondering. I don’t know. I guess you don’t act like them in some ways. Can’t say how exactly, but just different. Inside I was smiling. That was just what I wanted to hear.