The Back of Beyond (17 page)

‘Come upstairs and I'll show you where you'll be sleeping,' she said when they entered the house. ‘I've taken Morag in with me so Leila can have her room. Gwen and Marge, you can have the other double bedroom, if you don't mind sharing, and David's in what we call the boxroom, but I've cleared it out and he should be quite comfy.'

She showed, the girl and boy their rooms first, saying, ‘Don't worry about anything. Just get undressed and into your beds, and I'll take up a tray with something to eat.'

‘No,' Gwen said, wearily, as Alice ushered Marge and her along the landing. ‘They won't want anything and neither do we … thanks. We had sandwiches with us on the train, and flasks of tea, so we're not hungry.'

After standing for a few minutes watching the two women unpacking some things until they found their nightdresses, Alice said, ‘I'll leave you to it, then. The bathroom's next door to you. Sam had it put in over a year ago – another room we never used.'

Before going downstairs, she looked in at Leila and wasn't altogether surprised to find her already asleep as was David, when she peeped round his door. Poor wee devils, she thought, compassionately. It was going to take all four of them a good while to get over their terrible ordeal.

*    *    *

Even in the shelter with all the noise going on, Alistair slept better that night than he had done for some time, and guessed it was because he didn't have to worry about his family any more, just himself. He emerged into the daylight with a light heart. His house was still standing and there didn't seem to be any damage near them as far as he could see. He boiled the kettle to have a wash, then made himself some tea and toast. The house was so quiet, though. He missed the chatter of his children, his wife's constant urging at them to hurry up and get dressed.

On his way to work, he discovered that the bombers hadn't been all that far away the night before. Many of the buildings he passed had been damaged by blasts that had completely destroyed others, and as he went on, it became more difficult to get through. He was almost sick with apprehension when he neared the end of Manny's street, and his legs faltered when he rounded the corner and saw that the pawnshop was no longer there.

‘A direct hit!' he was told by one of the gang of workers trying to clear the area.

‘What about the … have you found the owner?' Alistair could barely get the words out, he was so upset.

The weary tin-hatted man eyed him sympathetically. ‘The old man in the back room? Did you know him? I'm sorry, mate. He's dead, crushed under a pile of rubble. We wouldn't have known to look for him except a woman a few doors along came and told us he slept in there. Her place got a good shaking up, windows all out, doors blown off, yet she was all worried about him. Was he a friend of yours?'

‘I worked for him … and he was the very best friend I ever had.' Alistair staggered a little now, the shock beginning to tell on him.

‘Are you all right, mate?'

‘I'm fine. It's just … I wasn't expecting this … I never thought …'

‘You'd better get off home, mate. There's nothing you can do here, and there's an awful lot like you this morning, with no work to go to.'

He drew the curtains when he went in – Manny wasn't there, of course, but he wanted to show some respect for the dead man – then sat down by the fire. It wasn't lit, but it seemed the only place to sit. He had to come to terms with what had happened before he could face anybody. Losing his job was a mere fleabite compared to losing Manny. The old man had been part of his life for so long, going on without him was unthinkable.

Alistair huddled into his chair for hours, numb with cold as well as shock, until at last the tears came, the welcome, warm tears which initiated a thawing in his innermost being. And only then, after allowing himself the luxury of rinsing out the awful, painful, gnawing grief – which didn't banish it altogether but made it slightly easier to bear – was he able to consider what he should do. Not that he had to ponder over this for long. Fate had decided for him, hadn't it?

His expression was grim when he went to Lee Green in the late afternoon. ‘Oh, my Lord!' Rosie exclaimed, her cheeks blanching when she heard about Manny. ‘That poor, dear old man … all alone at the end.'

‘Aye, Rosie, that's what's eating at me, and all. But I keep telling myself it had been quick and he wouldn't have suffered … would he?' His eyes sought her reassurance.

‘I shouldn't think so,' she comforted, ‘but what are you going to do now? You don't have a job and …'

‘I've been to the recruiting centre,' he admitted, a little sheepishly, ‘and I've signed on for the Artillery. They said it mightn't be long till I'm told where to report, and I'm not allowed to sublet our house, so I'm going to give it up altogether and come here till it's time to go … that's if your offer still stands?'

Rosie eyed him sadly. ‘You're very welcome, dear, for as long as you want, but are you absolutely sure the army's what you want to do?'

‘Absolutely certain! I'd have joined up before, but I didn't want to let Manny down.'

Rosie looked pensive now. ‘Do you know if anything was left of Manny's shop, any jewellery or valuables of any kind?'

‘Nothing, apparently, and if there had been, somebody would likely have taken them. There's a bit of looting going on, you know.'

She frowned her disapproval of this. ‘That's awful! How can people take advantage of other people's misfortunes? What's the world coming to? The Germans trying to blast us all to Kingdom Come, and our bombers doing the same to them. It's the poor civilians that are suffering most.'

‘It just came back to me,' Alistair said suddenly, ‘when the war started, Manny made me take all his best pieces to the bank for safekeeping.'

‘That's a blessing, then, but what will happen to them now? Will the bank claim them now he's dead?'

‘I've no idea.'

‘I think you should go and ask, Alistair … if it's still standing.'

‘It's not really any of my business, though. Manny did once speak about a cousin or a second cousin, in Australia … somewhere just outside Melbourne, I think he said. It was his only relative, so he'd be the next of kin, wouldn't he?'

‘Tell the bank manager about him, and maybe you should see his solicitors, as well. They'll need to know things like that, unless Manny had it in his will. Did he ever say anything about a will?'

‘No, never, but he was always so well organized, he must have made one.'

Rosie seemed better pleased. ‘Of course he would, but if he didn't put his cousin or whatever's address down, you could save them hunting all over Australia for him by letting them know he lives near Melbourne.'

Alistair thought it highly unlikely that Manny would not have given an address for his heir, but decided to go to see the solicitor the next morning anyway. Apart from pleasing Rosie, it would give him something to do, and they would have to be told that their client was dead.

Chapter 13

To the bank manager – a short, thin balding man with sharp features – Manny Isaacson's death meant just another name to add to the rapidly increasing list of accounts he'd had to close lately, although he did express sorrow that the old man's life had been terminated so suddenly and so violently. ‘Mr Isaacson did not leave a great deal,' he went on, after consulting his records.

‘Not in cash, perhaps,' Alistair agreed, ‘but I deposited some jewellery on his behalf at the start of the war for safekeeping.'

The man looked at him apologetically. ‘I can not release anything to you without proper authority.'

‘I wasn't expecting you to hand anything over to me, but I wondered if he'd deposited his will with you at some time.'

‘Ah.' The other man stroked his upper lip reflectively. ‘I have been manager of this branch for less than six months, so I am not familiar with transactions made prior to that, but if you care to wait, I can find out.'

Alistair was puzzled by the peculiar, almost accusing, look the man had given him as he passed. Surely he didn't suspect him of trying to steal the jewellery? It was just as well that he
wasn't
the heir. How on earth could anybody get proper written authority from a dead man? He shouldn't have come. He should have gone straight to the solicitor and let him deal with it.

While he waited, with nothing else to occupy it, his mind went back to Manny, the one and only real friend he'd made in London, apart from his in-laws, and that was different. Of course, there were Ivy and Len Crocker, but that was different, too. In any case, Len had retired some time ago, and they were now living in a small fishing village not far from Newcastle to be near Ivy's sister, who had married a Geordie during the last war. They still kept in touch, of course, sending birthday cards and gifts to his children on their birthdays, though Ivy was godmother only to David. The monthly letters she had sent to Gwen, though, had dwindled down to a hastily written note in a card at Christmas. That was how things went, he mused. Your friends change over the years; they move away and find other friends, and so do you. In any case, he'd never been one for having a lot of friends. Acquaintances, yes, but friends, no. He was slow at getting close to people, a result, probably, of being brought up in a house with no near neighbours.

He wondered now how Gwen and Marge would take to the isolation. He didn't think Gwen would mind. She was quiet, a home body, whereas Marge was … well, Marge was just Marge – a goer. She didn't like being stuck in the house. Her next-door neighbour on the other side from Rosie had told him once that he'd seen her going into a dancehall in Lewisham a few times. ‘I don't suppose there's anything in it,' he had gone on. ‘She likes a laugh does Marge, but I thought I'd better tell you, and I'll leave it up to you if you tell her mother or Dougal.'

He hadn't told anybody. Knowing Marge as he did, he was quite certain that there was nothing in it, that she had just wanted to break the monotony of being alone while Dougal was serving his country. She had been looking for some amusement … and she'd get precious little to amuse her in Forvit. It crossed his mind that maybe Rosie had guessed what had been going on. Had that been why she'd been so adamant that Marge should leave with Gwen and the kids? It would be a shock to his sister-in-law's system, though. She'd never walked farther than she could help, and she'd be stuck in Benview from one week's end to the next, unless she used shanks's pony. No buses ran past Alice's house. The bus from Aberdeen to Strathdon did go through Forvit, but when the Ritchies wanted to go into the city, they'd had to walk, or bike, a full mile of rough track before they came to the turnpike and could get transport, and if they were just going to the village, it was three miles there and three miles back.

He and Alice had walked to school in the early days. He'd forgotten that in his anxiety to get his family away from London. He'd been nearly ten before his father bought bikes for them at a roup, a house clearance, but if they were still in the shed, they'd be rusted out of commission by this time, so Leila and David would have to hoof it. Well, it hadn't done him or Alice any harm, in fact, it had likely kept them in peak condition – neither of them had ever been off school through illness.

‘Sorry to have kept you waiting so long, Mr Ritchie.' The manager bustled in again, taking Alistair's mind off the past. ‘You were quite right, there was a significant amount of valuable items deposited in our vaults by you on behalf of Mr Isaacson, but I am afraid that I am not, without written authorization, at liberty to …'

‘I don't want them,' Alistair put in, angry because of the thinly veiled hostility in the man's eyes. ‘I had to be sure they were still here, and I also wanted to find out if he had deposited his will with you. You see, I know something of the whereabouts of his next of kin, which I thought would be of use to you, but if you don't have the will …' He stood up and said coldly, ‘Good day, and I'm sorry to have troubled you.'

The man shot to his feet, all apologies. ‘I am sorry, Mr Ritchie, I did not mean to be offensive, but you must understand that I have to be careful.'

‘Yes,' Alistair sighed, rather regretting his own attitude, ‘I can quite understand that.'

When he went outside, he took a few deep breaths to compose himself. The man had been right. It
was
his duty to protect what had been entrusted to his care, but he could have explained things in a less aggressive manner.

Arriving at the door of Brown, Smith and Baker, Solicitors, Alistair wondered if he should just give up and let things take their own course. It really wasn't up to him, but something was urging him on, almost as if he couldn't let go of Manny until he was sure everything that could be done was being done. Everything? That jolted him. What about the funeral? Somebody would have to arrange it. He opened the street door and went up the narrow stairs to talk to whichever of the Messrs Brown, Smith and Baker had dealt with Manny's affairs.

‘I couldn't believe it!' Alistair told Peggy when she came home from work that evening, while Rosie, having already heard the good news, leaned back in her chair to watch her daughter's reaction to it. ‘There I was, all set to tell him about Manny's next of kin in Australia, and he held out his hand and congratulated me.'

‘I don't understand,' Peggy frowned.

‘Manny left everything to me.'

‘He couldn't have had much to leave? You've said yourself the shop wasn't doing as well as it used to, which was why he couldn't give you a pay rise, so …?'

Rosie could contain herself no longer. ‘He hasn't left much cash, but he'd a whole lot of jewellery deposited in the bank, and it's all Alistair's now.'

Peggy's chin dropped. ‘Wow! How much, d'you reckon?'

‘I don't know how much is in his bank account, but the jewellery must be worth a good few hundred, from what I remember of the things I put in.'

‘You'd no idea he was going to leave it to you?' The question came from Alf Pryor, almost like one of the family now, giving Rosie a hot snack for lunch, and spending all afternoon preparing an evening meal for her and Peggy, who had soon persuaded him to dine with them when she came home from work. Having heard the tale along with Rosie, he'd had time to consider it from all angles.

‘Not the faintest!' Alistair assured him.

‘However much it is, I'm happy for you!' Alf exclaimed, a grin transforming his usually serious face. ‘Will this make you change your mind about going into the army?'

‘Oh no. I told Mr Brown I'd volunteered and would have to report soon, and he said I could sign all the necessary papers the first time I'm home on leave.' His eyes clouded. ‘The funeral's been arranged – well, not only Manny's. Apparently the borough council takes that in hand for people with nobody to see to things. It'll just be one service …'

‘Not in a mass grave?' exclaimed Rosie, horrified at the thought of it. ‘Manny would hate that.'

‘No, no, they get individual graves.'

‘But they could be different religions. How do they deal with that?'

‘Apparently they provide a vicar, a priest and a rabbi.' Alistair shook his head sadly. ‘I wish I could have afforded to give him a proper funeral.'

‘You can, though … can't you?' demanded Peggy. ‘You'll have all the money from the jewellery when you sell it.'

‘I did mention that, but Mr Brown thinks it would be best to leave it where it is, to let it appreciate in value. Besides, he's had dealings with Crawford, the bank manager, before and doesn't think much of him. It seems he's a bit sticky at releasing cash, and he'd likely be worse with jewellery. Mr Brown said I should accept that I won't benefit from my windfall, as he called it, for a few months, and he advised me to let the council funeral go ahead, and to be honest, I don't think Manny would have minded. He never liked a fuss.' Alistair looked helplessly round the other three. ‘In any case, there's absolutely nothing I can do.'

‘You won't need to touch your inheritance till after the war,' Rosie reminded him. ‘You'll come back to Civvy Street a rich man.'

‘Not exactly rich,' he pointed out, ‘but a lot better off than I've ever been. I can still hardly believe it!'

‘So you keep saying,' Rosie smiled, ‘but there are times when what seems to be the blackest of situations turns out to have a silver lining – or in this case, gold and precious stones. If Manny had meant it to be a surprise, he's certainly succeeded.'

‘I wish he'd given me a clue, though. I'd have liked him to know how grateful I am.'

‘He'll know,' Rosie murmured, nodding sagely. ‘He'd have known before he did it. He knew the kind of man you are, honest and reliable.' She turned to her neighbour now. ‘I've been very lucky with my son-in-laws, you know, Alf – two really fine men.'

Alistair's cheeks flamed, and Peggy said, ‘Oh, Mum, you've embarrassed him.'

It was she who was embarrassed next. Alf cleared his throat nervously, and said, perhaps more loudly than he meant, ‘I agree with you there, Rosie, and I sincerely hope you won't be disappointed in your third …' He paused and looked imploringly at the elderly woman, then ended, ‘Rosie, I'm asking your permission to marry Peg.'

There were three separate gasps before Peggy flung herself at him. ‘Alf! Why didn't you … You never asked me. You didn't even give me a hint.'

Over her head, he looked at her mother. ‘Rosie?'

‘Yes, you have my permission.' She gave a gurgling laugh. ‘I've expected this, you know, and I couldn't understand why it was taking you so long.'

‘I've been meaning to ask you for … oh, years, but I could never get the words out. It was you speaking about your two sons-in-law that gave me the courage.'

She beckoned him over and kissed his cheek. ‘I'm even luckier than I thought. I'll soon have three daughters married to three wonderful men.'

After congratulating the happy pair and toasting their future happiness with the sherry Rosie had kept hidden for this very occasion, Alistair said, ‘I'd better get going.' He wasn't really in a celebratory mood and he didn't want to put a damper on things.

‘You'll have something to eat before you go?'

‘No thanks, Rosie. I want to get things organized at home. I'll have to pack all our personal belongings before I can give up the house, and clear out all the useless odds and ends we've collected since we moved in. What about the furniture though, and the rest of the stuff you gave us when we started out?'

Rosie took a moment to think, then said, ‘They're yours, so it's up to you, but you'll need them after the war, won't you? Why don't you put them in store somewhere?'

‘That'd be a bit expensive, though? The war could go on for years yet.'

Alf cleared his throat. ‘If you don't think I'm being out of order, you could move them into my garage. If there isn't room for everything, my cousin in Romford also has a garage standing empty. He gave up his car a few months ago and is thinking of renting it out. It wouldn't be nearly so expensive as paying for a proper store.'

‘The very thing!' exclaimed Peggy.

‘I can give you a hand to pack everything,' Alf offered. ‘I can come over any day – not tonight, of course.'

Quite overcome by everything that was happening, Alistair was forced to swallow before he said, shakily, ‘Thanks, Alf, I'll let you know. I'll have to get some tea chests or boxes of some kind first.'

On his way home, he concentrated his thoughts on Peggy and her future husband. They were a well-matched couple, both quiet and soberly dressed, and the age difference scarcely showed; despite his wiry hair being streaked with grey, Alf's face was unlined, his blue eyes bright and clear, his back straight for all he was six feet tall. He had an air of eternal youth about him, and Peggy had always looked older than her years, not going in for much make-up or fancy hairstyles. Of course, Alf wasn't as fit as he appeared to be, but, as Peggy often said, as long as he took things easy, he shouldn't do himself any harm.

When he went into his own home again, Alistair's spirits dropped. ‘Home sweet home and the fire black out,' as Len Crocker had said on the day he and Dougal arrived in London. But that had been a joke. This was reality. There was no cheer in any of the rooms as he wandered through them, and he decided he'd be as well going to bed. He would make a cup of tea, then he'd fill a hot water bottle, and then oblivion … hopefully.

He filled the kettle, lit the gas ring then sat down at the kitchen table. And now, with nothing else to take up his attention, his thoughts turned to Manny again. Manny, his employer, his friend, his confidante, his mentor. But Manny had been more than all of those. He'd been like a father. In fact, Alistair decided, he'd been much closer to Manny than he'd ever been to his real father. There had been a bond between them, a steel-cabled bond which could never be broken, not even by German bombs.