Authors: Kathleen McGurl
Things had started well that morning. The van had arrived on time and everything was loaded into it within four hours. The keys had been handed back to the landlord. Both the family and the removal men had gone for lunch then met outside number nine at three p.m. to unload. But as soon as the van had pulled up outside it had begun to rain, and now it was coming down in sheets.
‘Bugger!’ The sound of smashing glass and swearing sent Ali running out to the back of the van. One of the removal men was standing amid a pile of broken wine bottles, with a wet bottomless cardboard box in his hands.
‘Er, sorry love, the box got wet and the bottom just gave way. Saved one. Look.’ The man held out one bottle, which had stayed in the box. Ali took it and sighed. There goes our wine cellar, she thought. At least there was one left intact to celebrate their move later this evening.
‘Don’t worry; it wasn’t your fault. I’ll find a broom and clear this lot up.’ She went inside in search of the cleaning equipment. Maybe it was still on the van, but she thought she’d seen someone come in with an armful of mops and buckets earlier.
Inside, Pete was shifting boxes around in the newly fitted kitchen to make way for those yet to be unloaded from the van. ‘Who’d have thought we had this much stuff?’ he said. ‘The rented house was half the size of this one, but I’m wondering where on earth we’re going to put everything.’
‘It’ll be OK when we unpack. Seen the broom?’
‘Downstairs loo.’
‘What’s it doing in there?’
‘Removal bloke thought it was an under-stairs cupboard and just dumped it and a pile of other stuff in there. We’ll sort it later, I thought.’
Ali shrugged and went to collect the broom. Passing the bottom of the stairs she came across seventeen-year-old Kelly, who was sitting on the third step, phone in hand, composing a text.
‘Kelly, love, you’ll be in the way there. Can’t you go up and start organising your bedroom?’
‘Yeah, Mum. Will do. Just updating Matt on progress. Is it cool if he comes round tomorrow? He said he’d help sort out my new room.’
Ali nodded. She liked her daughter’s boyfriend. He was a pleasant, steady lad and a good influence on Kelly. ‘Of course he can come. But you’ll have to do some of the sorting out tonight, or you’ll be sleeping amongst piles of boxes.’
Two men pushed past carrying a chest of drawers destined for thirteen-year-old Ryan’s room. Ali grimaced as she saw how the rain had caused the veneer to lift off around the front edge. Well, it was only a cheap thing. They’d probably have to buy some better furniture more in keeping with the house. She turned back to Kelly. ‘Come on. Out of the way. Go up and make a start.’
Kelly stood up and slipped her phone into her jeans pocket. ‘OK. It’s such a nightmare up there, though. I don’t know where to start.’
‘You and me both, love,’ Ali said. It was exciting moving into a house they owned, but daunting as well. And she still had occasional misgivings about whether it had been the right thing to do. She shooed the thoughts out of her mind and went back outside into the rain with the broom.
Eventually, after hours of chaos, the removal men left, and the family were sitting in the living room on a jumble of sofas, chairs and boxes, eating take-away pizza. Ali had managed to find the box containing the wine glasses, and was opening the only unbroken bottle of wine.
‘Can I have some, Mum?’ Kelly asked.
‘Why not? We’re celebrating,’ Ali said, smiling, as she poured out three glasses.
Ryan made a face. ‘Ugh, wine’s disgusting.’
‘None for you, anyway,’ said Pete. ‘You stick to your lemonade.’
‘Well, cheers, family,’ said Ali, raising her glass. ‘Here’s to our new home. I hope we’re going to be really happy here. It’s twice the size of our old house, close to the beach, nearer Ryan’s school, nearer the station for Kelly to get to college, and renovating it will give your dad something to do until he finds a new job. Everyone’s a winner!’
‘Cheers!’ said Pete, clinking his glass against the others. ‘Which room shall I decorate next?’
‘Sitting room,’ said Ali. ‘So we have somewhere nice to bring guests into. I can’t bear this worn out, stained carpet.’
‘Mine,’ said Ryan. ‘I love how big my room is but I hate that flowery wallpaper.’
‘Well my wallpaper is already peeling off, around the sink in the corner,’ said Kelly. ‘Also I’ll be moving out in another year and a half when I go to uni. So it makes sense to do mine first so I get a chance to enjoy it.’
Pete laughed. ‘Looks like I’m going to be a busy boy, doesn’t it? Well, you can all chip in and help me get it all done.’
Ali smiled. She wouldn’t be chipping in to help. She was the breadwinner in the family at the moment, and the chief cook. It would be exciting as Pete worked his way through the house, renovating each room. He’d done a great job on the kitchen, though it wasn’t completely finished yet. He’d also managed to get an electrician to do most of the rewiring before they moved in, but they needed a new central heating system and a new bathroom as well as all the general decorating. They’d done the figures and it looked as though the remains of the redundancy money would just about cover the work. It’d be tight, but if they budgeted carefully, and if Pete got a new job quickly after the work on the house was done, they’d manage.
After everyone had finished their pizzas and the boxes had been put out in the recycling bin, Kelly and Ryan went upstairs to sort out their rooms or—more likely, Ali thought—text their mates. She and Pete stayed in the living room, finishing the bottle of wine. Pete was on the sofa in the middle of the room, and Ali went to join him, curling up beside him. Outside the rain was still lashing down.
‘Once we’re sorted, we’ll have to get that chimney swept so we can have a real fire in the winter,’ Pete said.
‘Mmm, that’d be nice,’ Ali replied. She could picture the room, decorated, with new curtains and a blazing fire in the grate. It was a big room but well proportioned and she was sure she could make it look cosy. ‘The kids seem happy with the move. I’m glad about that. You never quite know how they’ll react.’
‘What’s not to like, here? It’s not as though we’ve taken them away from their friends or schools or anything. And with the beach just down the end of the road, they’ll have a fabulous time all summer. You’ll be forever sweeping up sand and washing beach towels, I bet.’
Ali laughed. ‘They can sweep up their own sand. Anyway, tomorrow shall we call on our new neighbours and introduce ourselves?’
‘Good idea.’ Pete kissed the top of her head. ‘And when do you want to bring your gran round? It’ll be quite a surprise for her that we’ve moved here, after you’d told her we were going to sell it.’
‘Next weekend, I think, once we’ve got everything straightened out. I think she’ll be delighted we’ve moved in and are bringing the house back to life again. It’s been empty so long. This is where she grew up, of course.’
‘She must have such happy memories of living here,’ Pete said. ‘Shame Margaret didn’t get on with Betty in her later years.’
‘I’m not sure she ever got on very well with her,’ Ali replied.
January 1944
There was no jam for tea. No cake, either. Just plain bread and margarine, and one rich tea biscuit each. Joan craved something sweet, anything sweet. She poured herself a cup of tea, dipped her teaspoon in the sugar bowl and tried to heap it up as much as possible without being noticed.
‘Put that sugar back at once! No more than a quarter teaspoon per cup of tea. You know the family rules.’ Father glared at her from the other end of the table. Joan shook the spoon so that most of the sugar fell back into the bowl, and meekly stirred in the remaining quarter. She tasted her tea and grimaced. Her sister Mags, who was sitting next to her, winked in sympathy, and whispered, ‘You’re sweet enough already.’ They were sitting in the dining room, the second-best lace tablecloth spread over the table. War or no war, Father insisted on sticking to traditions and doing things ‘properly’, as he put it. They were firmly in the middle class, and he refused to let standards slip. Joan thought it all a complete waste of time and effort. Why couldn’t they just eat their tea at the kitchen table? So much less fuss and work!
‘Mother, when do you think rationing will end?’ she asked. Her mother smiled weakly and looked at Father. Just like Mother. She wouldn’t dare answer a question like that herself. She would always defer to the head of the household. That was why Joan had directed the question to her mother—just to stir things up a bit.
‘Not until this war’s over. We all have to put up with it until then, so stop making such a fuss. You’re not a baby any more.’ Father gave her a stern look, and tapped the side of his cup with his teaspoon. Joan sighed as her mother immediately leapt into action, pouring her husband a second cup of tea. Why was she such a doormat? If Joan ever married she liked to think she and her husband would be on a much more equal footing than her parents were.
‘Would you like more bread and margarine, Father?’ asked her other sister Elizabeth, pushing the serving plate towards his end of the table.
‘Thank you, Betty,’ he said. Stuck up Elizabeth, sucking up to Father as always, thought Joan. Another doormat. Well, it was now or never. She knew what the answer would be, but she had to ask anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as Mags would say.
‘Father, may I ask a question?’
‘Not if it’s anything more about rationing, child.’
‘No, it’s something else. The thing is, there is a dance on at the Pavilion tomorrow evening, to celebrate the New Year, and I would rather like to go.’
Father put down his teacup and stared at her over the top of his horn-rimmed spectacles. Joan forced herself to keep her eyes on his. If she looked away she’d lose her nerve.
‘You? But you’re far too young to be attending dances. You’re only sixteen.’
‘I had my birthday yesterday. I’m seventeen, Father.’
‘Don’t contradict me! You’re too young. I forbid you to go.’
‘But Father, Elizabeth and Margaret went to their first dances when they were seventeen.’
‘Are you arguing with me? I’ve said no, and that’s that.’
‘Mother, Mags is going and she said she’d look after me. Please, may I?’ What was the point? Her mother just shook her head gently and looked again at Father. Of course she would never go against anything he said.
‘Mother agrees with me. You are not to go. And Margaret, you will be home by ten o’clock. There’s an end to it.’ He picked up his newspaper and flicked it open, signifying that the topic was closed.
‘Please may I leave the table?’ Joan asked. Not waiting for an answer, she pushed her chair back and began gathering up plates and cups for washing up. Mags quickly joined her, and the two girls took the dirty crockery through to the kitchen.
‘It’s so unfair.
Why
can’t I go? He’s always stricter with me than he ever was with you or Betty.’ Joan turned the tap on full blast, spraying water everywhere.
‘Watch out, you’re making me wet!’ yelped Mags, as she jumped out of the way, brushing droplets off her skirt and blouse. Joan turned off the tap and clattered some plates into the sink. ‘And now you’re going to chip those plates. Let me do it. You’re too cross.’
Joan stood aside and let Mags take her place. Mags was right; she was cross.
‘Elizabeth’s not going, is she?’ she asked.
‘No. She’s going to the cinema to see some worthy French subtitled film. So I’m going to the dance on my own. But Mary and Noreen will be there, and some of the other girls from the WVS, so I won’t be alone.’
Joan picked a plate from the draining board and began wiping it roughly with a tea towel. She liked Mary and Noreen. It would be such fun attending a proper, grown-up dance with them and Mags.
‘I wish I could go. I feel like Cinderella, having to stay home while my sisters go out and enjoy themselves.’
Mags flicked soapsuds at her. ‘Are you calling me an ugly sister, Joanie?’
‘No.’ Joan giggled. ‘Betty’s the ugly one.’
‘Just think,’ said Mags, ‘if there was any way you could come to the dance, you might just meet your own Prince Charming.’
Both girls giggled uncontrollably at this, until Mother appeared at the kitchen door and told them to shush. They were annoying Father.
Washing up completed, they went upstairs to Joan’s bedroom. It was only four-thirty but already dark, and time to close the blackout curtains. Although their coastal town hadn’t suffered many air raids, unlike London, it had still had its fair share. Besides, Joan knew Father would be angry if they didn’t draw the blackout blinds before putting on any lights. And she’d annoyed him enough already for one day.
‘Mags,’ she said, as they flopped down onto Joan’s bed, ‘do you think I could sneak out and go to the dance? Without the parents finding out?’
‘How on earth could you do that? Father would expect you to be downstairs after supper, to listen to the news on the wireless.’
‘What if he thought I was out but somewhere else? Maybe, I don’t know, volunteering at the WVS? The soup kitchen’s open tomorrow night isn’t it? I could say I’m working there…’
‘Ooh, Joanie, there’s an idea! But what if he checked up on you?’
‘He wouldn’t check. Well, at most he might ask Noreen or Mary. Do you think they would cover for me?’ Lie for me, Joan thought. It was probably a bit much to ask, but she knew the other girls sympathised with her and Mags over their draconian father.
‘I’m sure they would. You know, I think that’s a plan! I’ll see Noreen this evening anyway—I’m doing a shift at the soup kitchen from six till eight. I’ll get her to put your name down on the rota. You were about to start volunteering anyway, weren’t you? He agreed to you doing it after Christmas, and we’re already into the New Year. Won’t he be suspicious though—first you ask if you can go to the dance, then when he says no, you announce you’re starting at the WVS?’
‘I’ll mention the WVS tomorrow at teatime. He’ll have forgotten I asked about the dance by then. You know he never takes any real interest in what you or I do. Not like Elizabeth. He’ll be asking her about every detail of the film she’s going to.’ Joan clapped her hands with excitement. ‘Now then, what shall I wear?’