The Bells of Bow (49 page)

Evie bowed her head. ‘Yes, Dad.’

‘Babs?’

Babs shook her head furiously. ‘Why don’t you all just leave me alone?’ she shouted and ran from the room and up to the bedroom she now hated sharing with her sister.

Harry came back to the house that evening as he had promised, and every other day and evening for nearly a week. Then his leave was almost up and it was his last few hours of freedom before he had to go back to camp. He arrived at number six with his arms full of flowers and a bottle of scent that he had paid ridiculously over the odds for on the black market.

After an evening at the pictures, Evie told him she wanted to go straight home because she had a headache. When they got back to the house, she wouldn’t let him past the street doorstep.

She smiled up at him wistfully. ‘Go now, Harry,’ she said, lowering her eyes. ‘I’m finding this really hard.’

He touched her gently on the cheek. ‘So am I.’

‘Go on, please,’ she said, looking away. ‘I’ll start crying in a minute.’

He kissed her tenderly on the forehead, turned, paused and then strode off down the street.

Evie closed the door behind him, went into the kitchen, dropped down into the carver chair and kicked off her shoes.

‘Thank gawd for that,’ she sighed. ‘He was like a flipping leech, that bloke. I didn’t think I’d ever get rid of him.’ She turned to Babs who was sitting at the table darning Georgie’s socks. ‘Any tea in that pot, Babs? I’m gasping.’

Babs let the mending fall into her lap. ‘What did you say?’ She raised her hand. ‘And no, I don’t mean about the tea.’

‘I’m glad to see the back of him. All right? Blimey, I invited him round the once but I didn’t think he’d be here every five minutes. I thought he’d never go. It was worse than being married.’

‘I don’t think I know you any more, Eve.’

‘What you on about now?’

‘You, you’re so hard.’

‘Can yer blame me? What do I wanna waste me time with a no-hoper like him for when there’s all these blokes coming over from America?’ She looked up at the ceiling with a dreamy look in her eyes. ‘GIs … sounds great, dunnit? I’ll bet they’re just like yer see in the films.’

‘So you ain’t interested in Harry no more?’

Evie folded her arms, leant back in the chair and closed her eyes. ‘Who?’

‘How d’yer think I look in this, Babs? Good, eh?’ Evie dropped her chin and put her head on one side to show her twin the new black chenille snood in which she had piled her thick blonde hair.

‘It’s all right,’ Babs said without much interest. She leant back against the sink. ‘What have yer done us for tea tonight, then? I’m starving.’

‘Gawd, you’re in a lovely mood, ain’t yer?’ Evie sat down on one of the wooden kitchen chairs and pulled the snood from her head. Then a smile spread slowly across her lips. ‘I know what’s up with you. Yer’ve got the hump about this letter, haven’t yer?’

‘What letter?’ Babs folded her arms.

‘The one yer’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes – ever since yer got in from work, in fact.’ Evie jerked her head towards the letter that had been left carelessly on the kitchen table, half in, half out of its envelope.

Babs concentrated on brushing an imaginary piece of fluff from the sleeve of her dress. ‘Why should I care about a letter what’s addressed to you?’

Evie’s smile became broader. ‘I see, so yer’ve noticed it’s addressed to me, have yer?’

Babs raked her fingers through her hair. ‘I just guessed, that’s all.’

‘What, like yer guessed about every other letter he’s sent me these past few months?’

‘Look, Eve, it’s nothing to do with me if Harry wants to write to yer.’

‘Aw, that’s interesting, so yer know who it’s from as well. Yer a really good guesser, ain’t yer?’

‘Shut up, can’t yer? Yer’ve always got a bloody answer, you.’ Babs pushed herself away from the sink and strode angrily across to the kitchen door.

‘Sausages,’ Evie said.

Babs stopped in the doorway and sighed. ‘What you on about now?’

‘Sausages. It’s what we’re having for tea. They won’t be a minute.’

‘I know your minutes,’ Babs said coldly. ‘Call me when they’re ready. I’m going up to see Betty.’

Nearly half an hour later Babs heard her name being hollered up the stairway from the passage below.

‘Babs!’ Evie shouted again. ‘Yer tea’s on the table. Now.’

Babs stepped out onto the landing. She closed the bedroom door gently behind her. ‘Ssshhh. Keep it down, can’t yer, yer’ll wake Betty.’

In the kitchen, Evie had indeed put the tea on the table. On the bare wooden surface stood two plates, each boasting two almost incinerated sausages, a limp pile of anaemic looking chips and a slice of badly cut, dry, grey bread.

‘This looks smashing,’ said Babs sarcastically. ‘Now, which one’s mine?’ She pulled out a chair from under the table. ‘This one, I hope,’ she said, pointing to one of the equally horrible looking meals.

Evie rolled her eyes, tutted loudly and sat down next to her sister. ‘What d’yer bloody expect, Babs, tea at the Ritz? There is a war on, yer know.’

‘Well, bugger me, and I hadn’t even noticed. Good job yer told me.’

‘Salt?’ Evie slammed the cellar down hard on the table, making Flash run for cover into the passage.

‘No thanks. Even the dog’s turned her nose up,’ said Babs, disgustedly pushing the plate away from her.

‘I dunno what yer complaining about.’ Evie took a bite of sausage and promptly screwed up her face at the revolting taste. ‘Yeughhh!’ She rubbed the back of her hand across her lips. ‘I can’t eat that muck.’ She, too, shoved her plate away from her. ‘Fancy coming out tonight?’

‘Where yer going?’

‘Up West.’

‘How about Betty?’

‘Dad’ll be in about eight. He can mind her.’

Babs got up from the table. ‘Flash,’ she called, slapping her thigh with her hand. ‘Here, girl.’

The dog trotted into the kitchen, her tongue lolling from the side of her mouth.

Babs scraped all the food onto one plate and, with a click of her tongue to encourage Flash to follow, opened the back door and tipped the lot into the yard.

Flash sniffed and circled it suspiciously, then overcoming her fastidiousness, guzzled the lot.

‘I’d like to see yer run round a track with that lot inside yer,’ said Babs, closing the back door. Then she put the plates in the sink and sat back down at the table. ‘So, what is it yer doing tonight? I wouldn’t mind going to a dance or something.’

‘We ain’t going to a dance, we’re going on a pub crawl. Me and this girl Gina who I met the other night. She knows all the best places where all the GIs go.’

Babs winced and shook her head. ‘GIs? No thanks.’

‘Please yerself but yer don’t know what yer missing.’

‘And you don’t know what yer getting yerself into.’

Evie laughed disparagingly. ‘You’re such a moaner, Babs. Every time I’ve even mentioned Americans, you’ve gone potty. Go on, come with us, yer’ll have a really good time, I promise. And yer’ll love Gina, she’ll really make yer laugh. Does anything for a lark, that one.’

‘Well, that should suit you right down to the ground, shouldn’t it – anything for a lark.’

Evie ignored her. ‘And the GIs, they’re a scream and all.’ She smiled. ‘They make yer die, honestly, Babs. Like, you ought to hear ’em complain about the damp. I said to this feller the other night, I said, this is flaming summer, mate, if you wanna see damp then you ought to be here in February! He couldn’t get over it. And then they go on about how they can’t get a glass of cold milk, and they hate the beer. And as for Brussels sprouts, well … See, they’re missing the good life what they have over there in America, so they need someone who can show ’em the ropes a bit. But, best of all, they miss having a bit of company.’ Evie winked saucily. ‘And
that
is where me and Gina – and you if yer’ve got any sense – come into the picture. I’ll bet you that if yer come out with us tonight, yer’ll have the best time yer’ve ever had in your life.’

‘Will you hark at yerself, Eve. Tell me what’s so bloody special about Americans.’

‘For a start, yer’ve never seen so much money being flashed about.’

‘Yer used to say that about Albie Denham.’

‘Don’t talk about him, if yer don’t mind, Babs.’ Evie waved her hand dismissively. ‘And yer know how they’re saying that they’re overpaid, over-sexed and over here? Well, I say, flipping good job! I mean it, you ought to meet some of ’em, Babs. Them uniforms make ’em look like real dreamboats. All the girls are saying it. Yer can give me a doughboy rather than a Tommy any day.’

‘Yeah and the clap and more unwanted babies and all, I suppose.’

Evie jumped up from her seat and jabbed her finger at Babs’s face. ‘Oi, you. Yer might be me sister but I ain’t having that, not from no one.’

Babs stood up as well. She moved very close to her sister. ‘D’you know what I heard someone say about you the other day, Evie?’ she asked in a low, controlled voice.

‘No. What? What did they say?’

‘They said have you heard about that Evie, she’s wearing them new utility drawers – one yank and they’re down.’

Evie pressed her lips tightly together, then she took a long, deep breath. ‘Wouldn’t have been that Ginny, I suppose? That loud-mouthed bitch at Styleways?’

Babs shrugged. ‘Does it matter who said it?’

‘Well, whoever it was, I hope you told their sodding fortune for ’em.’ She stared at Babs, her expression hard as nails. ‘Well, did yer?’

‘D’yer need to ask?’ Babs dropped down onto her chair. ‘Course I did. Yer know I wouldn’t let anyone get away with that. And if yer must know, it
was
Ginny and I would have given her a good hiding and all if Lou hadn’t have pulled me off her.’ She rubbed her hand over her eyes. ‘But whoever says it, it still hurts to hear that sort of thing being said about yer own sister.’

Evie sat down as well. ‘So I suppose this means yer don’t fancy coming out tonight.’

‘Nothing gets past you, does it, Evie?’

‘Shut up, Babs.’

They sat there for a moment, both lost in their thoughts.

‘So, are you writing to him?’ Babs asked eventually.

‘Who? President Roosevelt to ask him to send over some more GIs so’s I don’t run out of fellers?’

‘Why don’t you stop it, Eve, being clever all the time? Everything ain’t a joke.’ Babs picked up the letter from the table and waved it in Evie’s face. ‘You know who I mean. Harry.’

Evie went over to the mantelpiece to fetch her cigarettes. ‘What would I wanna be bothered writing to him for?’ She lit her cigarette and sat down again.

‘Because he writes to you. Really kind, friendly, lovely letters and he deserves a reply. Even if it’s to tell him to get lost.’

‘I
knew
you’d been reading ’em! Get ’em out of the bin, did yer?’

‘Shut up.’ Babs hesitated. ‘I think you’re really cruel.’

Evie picked a piece of loose tobacco from her lip. ‘If you’re so keen, why don’t you write to him?’

‘Me? But it’s you he’s interested in.’

‘Is it?’ Evie opened her big blue eyes as wide as she could. ‘Is it really? I don’t think so. It was the
single
one he was interested in, if yer remember. The one without the husband and the baby. Anyway, I dunno what difference it makes who writes to him. If it’s “Evie” he wants, just write to him and sign that name. Pretend you’re me. Pretend you’re the person he
thinks
is Evie.’ She laughed. ‘Complicated, innit? He thinks that I’m the single one and that you’re married. But you’re really single and I’m a widow. I mean, neither of us has actually got a husband.’

‘Let alone one in a prison camp called Ron,’ Babs muttered to herself.

‘And he thinks that Betty is the married one’s little girl, but …’ Evie stopped short, having lost track as well as interest; she flapped her hand to show she was bored with the whole thing and then took another drag at her cigarette. ‘Aw, I dunno, do what yer like, I don’t give a toss. It’s no skin off my nose either way.’

‘Evie, how can yer treat him like this?’

‘Like what? Look, I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal with this bloke. We’ve pretended to plenty of fellers before.’

‘But Harry’s really nice.’

‘Aw, it’s up to you. Write to him if yer like, if not, chuck the letter in the bin like all the rest.’ Evie stood up. ‘I’m going up to get ready. If you definitely ain’t coming, you can look after Betty and I can go out a bit earlier.’

Babs also stood up. She walked slowly over to the sink. ‘Yeah, you go,’ she said without looking round.

As she filled the kettle to boil water for the washing up, she heard Evie run up the stairs. Babs stared into the flame as she lit the gas and wondered whether she should, or even if she dared, do what Evie had suggested. Could she really write to Harry pretending to be the make-believe version of Evie Bell that her twin had created – an unmarried young woman without a child? A young woman, in fact, exactly like her except for the bleached blonde hair. And, if she did pretend to be the person he believed Evie to be, could she keep up the pretence, and what should she say to him? I love getting your letters? Please don’t write again? Or, worst of all, the truth, and risk him feeling that he had been made such a fool of that he wouldn’t want anything more to do with either of them?

Even for November it was an especially dark and gloomy afternoon in the Roman Road. The market traders, many of whom had disappeared from their usual pitches since the war, hated this sort of weather, as people preferred to stay at home round their firesides and keep warm rather than stroll among the stalls.

‘Great to hear them old bells ringing again, wasn’t it, eh, Art?’ said Wally, a fat, elderly man whose stall held nothing but potatoes and carrots. ‘Cheered me right up, they did.’

Art, a dealer in secondhand clothes, puffed his chest out proudly. ‘My boy was there, yer know, Wally.’

‘What, El Alamein?’

‘Yup.’

‘Well, I never knew he was out there, Art. Yer must’ve been right chuffed when the news about the victory broke.’

Art smiled with pleasure. ‘Me and the missus was pleased as punch, I can tell yer. And, d’yer know, when them old bells started ringing to celebrate, it was like being a bit closer to him. Know what I mean?’