War Orphans (2 page)

‘You can keep the change, but only if it's a few pennies. And spend it right away. I don't want your dad thinking that I'm a wicked stepmother – like that Goldilocks . . .'

‘Snow White,' Joanna corrected her. ‘It was Snow White.'

Seeing anger flare in her stepmother's eyes, Joanna knew it was time to make a quick exit. She grabbed the brown leather shopping bag set aside for vegetables. Elspeth rarely shopped for vegetables. That job she either left to Joanna or bought from Charlie Long, who came round on a cart pulled by a brown-and-white horse named Polly. Joanna was fascinated by the dependable old horse who waited patiently while Charlie served the street with vegetables. Polly had even let her stroke her muzzle and Joanna had been fascinated by its softness.

‘Like velvet,' she'd said to Charlie, smiling up at him.

Charlie had said the horse didn't let everyone touch him like that. ‘It means she likes ye. Animals know who they like and who they don't like.'

Joanna had felt so privileged she thought her heart would burst.

Her stepmother was always willing to puncture any sign of happiness.

‘Leave the animal alone. You might get fleas,' she'd snapped, a comment which brought a surly look from Charlie.

‘My horse ain't got fleas, missus, and don't you forget it. Say it again and ye won't be buying any of my potatoes, I can assure ye of that.'

Charlie always said ye, thou or thee. Joanna didn't know why and didn't care to ask. She liked the way he spoke.

It wasn't Charlie's day to come clopping up the street with Polly so the potatoes had to be bought from the shop at the bottom of the hill. Joanna didn't mind running downhill to the shop, her hair flying behind her and arms outstretched as though she could fly. Running downhill felt like freedom. She wished there was some kind of magic that would turn her arms into wings and she could fly away.

There were a few people in the vegetable shop when she got there. One or two looked at her with pity in their eyes. She was careful to look away. Fifteen minutes later and she was off back home, shoulder sagging one side as she lugged the heavy bag, a lollipop stick hanging out of her mouth. Slogging back up the hill with a heavy bag of potatoes was slower and the prospect of arriving home far from liberating.

Halfway up The Vale, as their street was named, she looked back down the hill, half expecting to hear the rattly roar of her father's motorbike coming up behind her. He'd been called up to fight in the war just a week ago, yet she still expected to see him riding up that hill between the red-brick council houses.

Ever since she was a little girl she'd always ran halfway down the hill to meet him, riding pillion for the remainder of his journey home.

Her mind went back to the time when he'd brought the kitten home for her. She could still see him now, wearing a leather flying helmet, gauntlets and goggles even when the weather was warm. His smile was always there and his voice always rang with the same invitation. ‘Sweetheart! Hop on!'

On the day when he'd brought her the most wonderful gift of all, he couldn't seem to stop grinning.

‘Tell you what,' he'd said, ‘you hold something for me, and I'll heave those potatoes up here between me and the tank.'

Joanna stopped, making the lollipop stick twist and turn as she remembered what he wanted her to hold. She'd handed him
the potatoes, which he bundled up in front of him, the weight resting on the tank.

‘Here,' he'd said, reaching inside his jacket, his smile undiminished. ‘Her name's Lottie.'

Joanna had gasped. ‘It's a cat!'

‘A kitten,' he'd corrected. ‘Just a little snippet of a thing.'

The kitten had purred as she wrapped her arms around her.

‘It'll be your job to look after Lottie from now on,' her father had said.

‘Where did she come from?'

‘Well, she belonged to Fred, the night watchman at the factory. His cat had kittens and then Old Fred died, so Lottie here has nowhere to go.'

Joanna had been dumbstruck.

‘Well, can you look after her or can't you?'

Too surprised for words, she'd nodded her head vigorously.

‘Come on then. Get on the pillion.'

Tucking the purring cat inside her cardigan, Joanna had scrambled on behind her father, wrapping her arms around him tightly enough not to fall off while at the same time being careful not to squash the cat.

On hearing the sound of the approaching motorcycle, Elspeth had appeared at the front door, done up to the nines, ready to play the ideal housewife. As usual her lips were painted bright red, her dress was clean and glossy curls bounced around her shoulders.

She'd waved a manicured hand, the fingernails the same bright red as her lips. ‘Darling!'

Joanna always winced at the sight of those bright red nails and that waving hand, bringing to mind as it did the slaps she'd often received.

Her father had steadied the bike so Joanna could get off first.

‘Look what my dad's brought me,' had said Joanna, unable to control her happiness.

‘A cat. That's nice for you. Make sure you look after it.' She'd thrown a disapproving look at Joanna's father. ‘Tom. You shouldn't have.'

Joanna interrupted what could have been the beginning of a quarrel. ‘It's a girl. Her name's Lottie.'

From then on the cat had shared her bed and Joanna had looked after her, feeding her and bringing her in from outside when Elspeth had shut her out at night, even when it was bitterly cold. Once she was sure her father and Elspeth were gone to bed, Joanna would sneak back downstairs and let Lottie in. Together they had fallen asleep, Joanna's arm around her very best friend.

One week ago, her father stood there on the doorstep, wearing his brand-new uniform and looking in two minds to go.

‘It'll be just you and me, darling,' her stepmother had said just before her father had left.

Joanna had trembled at the thought of it, though she didn't dare say a word. Her stepmother had made a show of being kind to her that day. Her father was not to know that things were not always like that – not that there were ever any bruises to show, bruises would have to be explained. (Joanna feared that would change once her father was gone.) – instead, she endured cutting words and cruel treatment. But now, there would be no shoulder for Joanna to cry on, no kind voice to soothe the loss of her mother.

Elspeth had tolerated Lottie while her father was around, but once he was called up to serve his country, her stepmother took to throwing the cat out even during the day.

‘It's just a mangy cat,' she snarled at Joanna.

Joanna was brave in the defence of Lottie, her little chin firm and her eyes bright with intent. ‘My dad brought her home for me.'

‘Well,' snapped Elspeth, pushing her face close to Joanna's so there was only a hair's breadth between them. ‘Your dad is not here. He's off fighting in the war. Animals are of less importance now than they've ever been. The whole lot of them should be put down!'

The first Joanna knew that something was horribly wrong was as she was walking home from school up The Vale. Her friend Susan was with her, prattling away about her day in school as though she were the only one who went there.

Joanna heard her but didn't really take it in. Going home today, the first day of school since her father had gone to war, had left her feeling very apprehensive.

All the way up the hill red-brick houses sat behind privet hedges. The houses had been built in the late twenties and early thirties for people who had been moved out from the city centre when their homes were demolished to build a chocolate factory. Some of the privet hedges framing the handkerchief sized front gardens were neatly trimmed. Others were left overgrown until the occupants were shamed into taking action by their neighbours. People took pride in their gardens as much as they did their houses. Her father had been no exception. He'd taken care of his garden.

Joanna admired the little gardens and particularly liked the smell of the privet flower, its blossom a sign that hedge trimming time was imminent, the perfume hanging in the air as the shears did their work. She wondered who would take care of theirs now her father was away fighting in the war. Elspeth hated gardening, saying it destroyed her fingernails. She resolved to do what she could, though because the shears were so heavy cutting the grass and hedges was out of the question.

Although it was September, the smell of privet flowers still hung in the air, resurrected by the crisp freshness of the first month of autumn.

Normally Joanna would be elated, but the thought of going home to a house without her father's presence made her subdued. When she got home only Elspeth would be there, and as soon as she walked in the door, she'd tell her to get her own food, that she was too busy to bother with the demands of a child.

Joanna's only solace would be that her cat would be there, greeting her with a purr the moment she entered the garden gate.

The Vale had been bustling for days with people delivering sandbags and Anderson shelters. Some people whose back gardens were bigger than average had been ordered to have a block-built shelter erected for the benefit of those who didn't have room for an Anderson or were too old to or incapacitated to install one.

Joanna forced herself to tune in to what Susan was saying.

‘That Miss Hadley told me I should think more before I read aloud,' Susan said petulantly. ‘I don't care for reading. I don't care if I never read another book ever again.'

Joanna laughed. She didn't understand Susan's reluctance to read. She herself loved books and Miss Hadley had commended her on how well she read.

‘I like her,' said Joanna.

‘I like her too,' Susan admitted grudgingly. ‘It's the books I don't like.'

Joanna's attention had shifted to Mrs Goodson in number 15, a formidable woman most of the time, the sort who refused to give a ball back when it bounced into her garden. She was leaning on the garden gate, crying into her handkerchief and blowing her nose.

‘What's up with her?' muttered Susan.

Joanna had never seen Mrs Goodson be anything but fierce; never, ever had she seen her crying. She couldn't help but stop and ask her what was wrong.

Mrs Goodson's glare of recognition that these were some of those badly behaved kids was short-lived, riddled by sobs. ‘It's
the war. The filthy war! How would I have been able to feed him?'

‘Clarence? Do you mean Clarence, Mrs Goodson?'

Clarence was a Pekinese with short legs, a snub nose and sharp teeth. Just like his owner, he didn't like children, and the children didn't much like him, but old Mrs Goodson had doted on him. Joanna had even glimpsed her feeding him a square from a Fry's Five Boys chocolate bar.

Joanna glanced over the garden gate to the front step where Clarence usually lay stretched out with his eyes closed, until somebody chanced to walk past. At the sound of footsteps he was always up, racing to the gate and yapping until the intrusion on his territory had passed by. Once he was sure no threat lingered, he went back to lying on his step.

‘Is he dead?' Joanna asked. She had got used to his noisy ways, his squashed face and his needle-fine teeth.

Mrs Goodson dabbed at her eyes. ‘The man from the Animal Committee told me he'd be found a home in the country, a place of safety, he said. He pointed out that with a war on I wouldn't be able to feed him and also the noise of bombs falling and guns firing might send him mad.'

Joanna felt Mrs Goodson's pain. The old lady had loved her dog. ‘I hope he'll be happy there,' she said.

Impatient to be going, Susan tugged at her arm. Together they continued the long trek up the hill.

‘Imagine living in the country,' said Susan. ‘I know our Bertie would like it. He chases cats and if the cats get moved to the country he'll chase them there.'

‘I'm not letting Lottie go to the country,' Joanna said adamantly. ‘She's staying with me. We'll both get bombed together!'

Her tone was defiant, but inside she was scared. And her fears were intensified when she saw the van outside John Baker's house. John, a freckle-faced lad with a thatch of auburn hair, was in the same class as her and had a scruffy old dog named
Dandy. He and his mother were standing by the gate, looking sad.

Joanna's heart almost stopped when she saw Dandy being led to the van. The van shook and echoed with barking of dogs. Joanna glimpsed a cage, saw the man reach in and open it. Dandy was loaded into the cage. From the heart of the frenzied interior she glimpsed the fear-filled eyes of caged cats and dogs, staring out at the world where they'd wandered free.

‘Come on. Hurry!'

Joanna tugged at Susan's sleeve. The two girls quickened their pace and caught up with John.

‘Is he going to country?' Joanna asked him.

John shook his head sadly. ‘He's a bit too old to move so they say it'll be kinder to put him to sleep.'

The knot of fear Joanna had been feeling inside grew tighter.

They were running now, Susan lagging behind and calling for Joanna to slow down. But Joanna was desperate to get home to Lottie as fast as she could.

The van caught up with them. Breathless from running and fear, Joanna saw it pass, a black shape swaying from side to side. A sick feeling of dread swept over her as it stopped outside her house. Elspeth, her stepmother was at the gate, a closed cardboard box in her arms.

Lottie hated Elspeth as much as Elspeth hated her. Somehow her stepmother had lured the cat into that box and taped down the lid. Joanna ran faster.

‘No!' she shouted. ‘I don't want Lottie to go to the country.'

‘Take no notice,' Elspeth said to the man to whom she gave the box. It wasn't lost on Joanna that her stepmother was giving the man her most winning smile. But most of all her heart was breaking. She could hear Lottie mewing pitifully from within the cardboard box.