Darkest Before Dawn (37 page)

Both girls laughed, though Seraphina pointed out that Evie looked half starved if ever anyone did. ‘And I know you, Ma – you'd have made sure she was fed, even if you had to half starve yourself,' she said jokingly. ‘Only, as it happens, Angie and me know that Evie's got hollow legs. You can feed her like a prince and she'd still look more like a string bean than a human person.'

Evie bounced across the kitchen and punched Seraphina lightly on the shoulder. ‘You're calling me skinny and I'm not, I'm slim, or slender, or whatever it is the magazines call their heroines,' she said indignantly. ‘And I don't see that either of you look fat at all, you look just right.'

‘So do you, queen,' Seraphina said remorsefully. ‘And Ma's right, the forces do feed us pretty well, even if it is lumpy porridge, overcooked potatoes and Spam.' She sniffed, raising her nose in the air, in a parody of the Bisto Kids advertisement. ‘My goodness, liver and onions; how good they smell! But I thought onions were in short supply? Folk are always complaining they can't get 'em.'

‘Evie went down to the canal a couple of weeks back and gave a hand, and Hetty magicked up a whole string of onions and a sack of potatoes,' Martha said proudly, jiggling the frying pan. She jerked a thumb at the table, already laid for the meal. ‘Sit down, girls, and get outside this little lot, and then with luck we might get a couple of hours' sleep in our own beds before the siren goes.'

‘Oh?' Angela said, taking her place at the table. ‘But you were bombed last night, Ma, and the night before that; surely it won't happen three nights in a row?'

‘It's a clear night,' Martha said quietly. She slid liver and onions on to each plate, then indicated the tureen full of fluffy mashed potato, and the big blue jug of gravy. ‘Eat first and talk later,' she commanded. ‘Another mug of tea, anyone?'

Much later that night, entombed in the stuffy depths of the nearest shelter, Seraphina, Angela and Evie cuddled on to one of the hard little bunks. The noise from outside was unbelievable, worse than anything any of them had experienced before. The shelter shook every time a bomb landed near them, which was every few moments, or so it seemed. Seraphina thought that presently the brick walls of the shelter and the great steel and concrete reinforced roof would simply give up the unequal struggle to remain intact and fall in upon them, but it did not happen.

In the early hours of the morning, Martha joined her daughters. She was white-faced and filthy but she, and the two women who accompanied her, smiled brightly and said that they had been told, now that their supply of both tea and butties had run out, to get themselves into a shelter.

‘Whass it like out there?' an old man, with a draggly grey beard and a stained mackintosh, enquired hoarsely. ‘Me head's ringin' from the crashes an' I can't think straight no more, but I does know me daughter, livin' out at Bootle, don't always go to the shelter. Are they bombin' out Bootle way, missus?'

The three women exchanged glances, and the eldest of them replied. She was a plump woman with a great many freckles and curly ginger hair touched with grey at the temples. ‘It's impossible to say for certain, of course,' she said quietly, ‘but I'm sure the wardens wouldn't let your daughter stay in her own home on a night like this. Anyway, the bombs might not have fallen so far out of the city; they seem to have concentrated their best efforts – or rather their worst efforts – on the docks and the city centre.' She patted the old man on the shoulder. ‘I'm sorry I can't be more definite, but it's pretty bad out there.'

The old man sat down once more. Seraphina saw that he was trembling but knew they could do nothing more to reassure him. Downright lies would not help, for the old man would find out they were lies soon enough.

Evie was curled up in the corner of the bunk and Seraphina had thought that her little sister slept, but now she saw that Evie's dark eyes were wide open and even as she glanced towards her Evie sat up. ‘Anyone got any tea left?' she shouted, above the tumult of the raid. ‘Mr Benjamin ain't feeling so good.'

Why didn't I think of that, Seraphina asked herself as a hugely untidy woman, whom she recognised as a stallholder from Paddy's market, surged across the shelter, a large flask in one hand. She unscrewed the top and poured what remained in the flask into it, then handed it to the old man, putting her arm round his shoulders as she did so and giving him a reassuring squeeze. ‘Here y'are, Benjy, me old mate,' she said huskily. ‘Drink that up an' you'll feel better in no time. Me lad's in the navy so I added a spoonful of rum to the tea when I were makin' it.' She chuckled hoarsely. ‘That'll put hairs on your chest, as me lad always says.'

Evie giggled. ‘Has it put hairs on your chest, Mrs O'Mara?' she asked cheekily. ‘And if it puts hairs on your chest, how about your chin, eh? Why, if you drank enough of it, you could make a tidy penny joinin' a circus as the bearded lady!'

Seraphina opened her mouth to tell Evie not to be so cheeky, then closed it again. The fat old stallholder was laughing, the old man in the stained raincoat was laughing, Martha and her two WVS friends were laughing, and now other people began to tease the stallholder, to laugh and crack jokes. Seraphina looked at her sister's small, crumpled face and thought, wonderingly, that Evie could teach them all a thing or two. The entire atmosphere in the shelter had changed. People began to sit up and take notice of what was going on around them instead of crouching miserably on the bunks and benches, pretending to be asleep, each one shut up in their own little circle of fear.

Martha and her friends came and perched on the bunk beside Seraphina, for the shelter was packed. ‘You have to hand it to Evie,' Seraphina whispered in her mother's ear. ‘She must be scared stiff – well, we all are – but you'd never think it, would you?'

Martha put her arm round Seraphina and gave her a squeeze. ‘I don't know what I would have done without her, since you and Angie joined up,' she admitted. ‘Nothing seems to faze her except the thought of being sent away, and no matter how bad the raids get, I shan't suggest it again.'

Angie, who had been writing a letter in the dim bluish light, which was all the shelter afforded, leaned across Seraphina and spoke directly to Martha. ‘She's thirteen now; in another year she'll be working, so there's really no point in sending her away, unless you go with her, of course.'

Martha snorted. ‘You know I won't . . .' she began, just as another enormous explosion rocked the dugout. When the noise began to die down, she spoke once more. ‘This is the worst night we've had; easily the worst. If the flat survives, I'll be astonished. And if it goes . . . well, Evie and I will just have to think again, that's all.'

When the all clear sounded, everyone stumbled out of the shelter, clutching their personal possessions. The steps were covered in grit – brick dust from the bombed buildings, Seraphina assumed – and when they reached the top and were standing on the pavement in the brightening daylight, she gasped at the devastation around them. The warehouses surrounding the docks were ablaze still, and against the fires she saw the silhouettes of the troops who had been drafted in to try to keep the warehouses safe, scuttling backwards and forwards in their completely vain attempts to douse the flames. Where had stood buildings which she had always known as a part of the scene were just gaping, blackened holes. The roadway itself must surely be impassable, because of the rubble, the jetting water mains and the twisted tram rails which had resulted from the bombing. Yet when they reached the shop, both it and the surrounding buildings were still intact and just as they went down the side passage towards the flat Mr Wilmslow appeared, looking drawn and tired, though he grinned at them cheerfully enough, pushing his tin hat to the back of his head, and rumpling Evie's long hair. ‘I'm that glad to see you, ladies,' he said. ‘There were a moment when I were down by the docks and that bleedin' barrage balloon landed on the
Malakand
when I thought I were bound to be a goner. And there were another moment, when I could ha' sworn one of the landmines came down almost on top of the shelter. Me and a few other chaps raced over there, but either the wind or the heat from the burning buildings had caught the parachute, so instead of falling straight like, it were carried away across the dock and disappeared into the water. Aye, it's been a bad night; the worst so far, I'm thinkin'.' He made as if for the front door of the shop, digging in his pocket for a key.

‘You come up to the flat with us, Mr Wilmslow, and I'll get everyone some breakfast,' Martha said, and Seraphina heard the gentle note in her voice and thought that Evie's kindness came directly from Martha. She knew her mother disliked her employer, thought him a mean old skinflint, had once told Seraphina, privately, that he sometimes cheated his customers if he could get away with it. Yet now, when he was doing his best for the war effort, when he had no one to make his breakfast or wash his filthy clothes, Martha would help him, despite her personal feelings.

Together, the Todd family and Mr Wilmslow ascended the iron staircase and entered the familiar kitchen.

By Wednesday morning, Seraphina felt positively punch drunk and longed for nothing so much as a proper rest, for the air raids had continued with equal ferocity every single night since they arrived home. Sitting in the kitchen, listlessly eating her breakfast porridge, she looked round at her mother and sisters, and Mr Wilmslow, and felt ashamed that she dreaded the nights ahead and longed for the comparative peace of her airfield. Martha and Mr Wilmslow were both far worse off than she, for they worked in the shop all day and could not even come down to the shelter at night. Since their arrival home, though, she and Angie had managed to help a bit and Evie, as usual, took on getting the messages and a good deal of the housework and cooking. Angela and herself worked in the shop from opening time until one o'clock, which meant that Mr Wilmslow and Martha got four hours' sleep at least. The trouble was, both she and Angie found it impossible to sleep in the air raid shelter so they usually tried to go to bed around three in the afternoon, sometimes actually sleeping until eight or nine at night, though the strain of listening for the air raid siren made sleep difficult.

‘More tea, queen?' Martha looked lovingly across the table at her eldest daughter. ‘I'm that sorry your leaves have coincided with the worst of the bombing, and I wish you'd go off into the country for the few days that are left. But to tell you the truth, I'm too tired to argue with you . . . too tired to do anything much, apart from keeping on going.'

‘We're all tired,' Mr Wilmslow said, scraping his spoon around the porridge bowl. ‘I keep telling myself that the bloody Huns will soon realise there's nothing left in Liverpool worth bombing, but it doesn't seem to happen. So I've come to a decision.' He pointed a finger at Martha. ‘I shan't be needing you in the shop until next Monday, do you understand me? Mrs Bunwell and meself will manage as best we can, and you and your girls will go into the country and have some time together. Don't worry about the money – I'll pay. I spoke to an old friend of mine, by telephone, last evening – she's a farmer's wife out on the Wirral. Her sons are all in the forces so she's got several spare bedrooms and she's agreeable to having the Todd family stay from today till Saturday, so it's all arranged.' He saw Martha begin to open her mouth and cut her short. ‘No, I won't hear a word against it. You're not being fair to the girls, Mrs Todd, because they're given leave from their jobs to ease the stress of forces' life, and these here raids don't do that, do they? You'll have to take your ration books, of course, but knowing Mrs Noakes she'll feed you well and you'll have a proper rest each night and time together during the day.'

Across the table, Martha smiled at him and Seraphina saw that her mother's eyes were bright with tears. ‘It's awfully good of you, Mr Wilmslow, and I will go, though I shall feel dreadful leaving you with all the work and no one to cook, or clean, or shop for you,' she said. ‘But I know you're right, really, about the girls being given time off for a good reason, and I know they won't go without me. Tell you what – when Evie and I come back, you must promise to visit Mrs Noakes for a few days yourself; then we'll both be in a better state to face whatever is to come.'

‘Mebbe I will at that,' Mr Wilmslow said. ‘I don't deny I'm weary to the bone; it's been a great help having the girls take over the shop in the mornings, but I'm often so perishin' tired I can't sleep. Now, you want to make your way down to the Pier Head, get a ferry to Woodside and catch a bus from there . . .' He frowned with mock ferocity at Martha ‘You'd best be on your way or I'll want to know the reason why.'

Seraphina could have wept with relief at the thought of leaving the devastated city. She could also have hugged Mr Wilmslow for his generosity of spirit, though she was determined that he should not pay for her holiday. She could well afford to do so but knew her mother was probably quite hard pressed, and thought she would leave the matter of payment until she had talked to Martha and Angela. She glanced at Evie, who was beaming. The girl rushed round the table and gave Mr Wilmslow a hearty hug and a kiss on the cheek, which he pretended to wipe off disgustedly, though Seraphina could see he was secretly delighted.

‘Thank you, thank you, Mr Wilmslow; anyone who calls you an old skinflint when I'm around will gerra knuckle sarnie,' Evie said joyfully. ‘Oh, it'll be grand to have a few nights' proper sleep and to be on a farm, with pigs and ducks and that. I wonder if there's a pony? Mebbe I could learn to ride.'