Where the Heart Lies (7 page)

She crossed the street. ‘Hello, Stan,’ she murmured.

He turned his head, his gaze seeming to penetrate to her core as he looked down at her. Flicking away the half-smoked cigarette, he opened his arms and smiled. ‘’Ow’s my girl tonight, then? Ready to kiss me now, are yer?’ he teased.

Julie snuggled into his embrace and raised her face to him. ‘Try me,’ she giggled.

His kiss was soft at first, and sweet, then his arms tightened round her and it became more demanding,
his tongue flicking over hers, his lips crushing. ‘Oh, Julie,’ he groaned eventually. ‘Do we ’ave to wait, darlin’? I’ve such a longing for you, gel.’

Julie gently pulled away from him, her senses in a riot. ‘I want to as much as you, Stan,’ she said shakily, ‘but we mustn’t. Not until we’re married.’

‘But that could be ages yet,’ he protested, reaching for her again. ‘Come on, Julie,’ he coaxed. ‘I got a mate with a nice little room up Islington way. He promised to be out tonight, so we’d ’ave it all to ourselves.’

It was getting harder to resist him, but despite the longing to lie with him, to know him completely, resist she must. ‘It’s no good, Stan,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m not going anywhere tonight but in this pub. I’ve had a long couple of days and I could do with a drink, not a wrestling match.’

‘Blimey, Julie,’ he replied, tugging at his hat. ‘You don’t ’alf make it ’ard on a bloke – especially when you look so pretty all done up like that.’

‘Pass your sergeant’s exam and keep that thought warm,’ she replied with a soft smile. ‘Come on, let’s get that drink. I have to be in by ten, and it’s cold out here.’

The Bull was a popular, lively pub, the crushed mass of people happily singing along to the piano as the noise level rose and cigarette smoke drifted in clouds over their heads. Stan moodily elbowed his way to the bar while Julie tried to find somewhere to sit. She was in luck, for two off-duty soldiers
were just leaving, and she grabbed the space and sat down just as Stan returned from the bar with two pints of beer.

‘Bottoms up, gel,’ he said, raising his glass and swallowing half the pint in one go.

Julie giggled. ‘I get enough bums in the air as it is,’ she reminded him. ‘Chin, chin.’

Stan still looked morose as he surveyed the room and nodded to several acquaintances. He sipped his beer, lit a cigarette and sat back. ‘I don’t know why we come in ’ere,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve arrested ’alf of ’em at one time or another.’

‘We come because it’s near to the hostel,’ she said lightly. ‘Blimey, Stan, there ain’t a pub in London where you won’t bump into someone you’ve nicked.’ She smiled at him uncertainly, not used to him being so sullen.

‘It ain’t my idea of a good night out,’ he retorted. He finished his pint and without another word headed for the bar again.

Julie watched him, knowing what was eating at him and unwilling to let him have his way. She could only hope he’d snap out of this mood, for it was spoiling the short time they had together, and she was beginning to wish she hadn’t bothered coming out at all.

The sirens went off just as he returned from the bar, and everyone groaned as the lights were switched off and they had to hurry into the blacked-out streets for the nearby shelter.

‘I should go to the shelter at the hostel,’ Julie shouted above the ear-splitting screech of the sirens. ‘I’ll be late back if this raid goes on for more than an hour.’

‘Don’t be so bloody silly,’ snapped Stan, who was obviously still in a dark mood. ‘Matron will understand if you’re late, and this shelter’s nearer. Come on.’ He grabbed her arm, and without so much as a by-your-leave, propelled her down the road.

His mood had soured the evening, and now his grip was a bit too tight for her liking, so she pulled away from him and ran on ahead. Reaching the shelter, she didn’t wait to see if he was behind her and hurried down the steps to try and find somewhere to sit.

It was already crowded, and she had to wriggle through dithering women and old men, and dodge round the bags and parcels and bits of household treasure that some of them refused to leave at home during a raid. Babies were wailing and toddlers were grizzling, and harassed women were shouting across to each other in the gloom and damp of the shelter, which stank of stale sweat, fag smoke and old socks.

It was not the nicest place to finish a disastrous evening, and Julie was already feeling claustrophobia creeping up on her. She found a space close to the door and plumped down, accepting rather ungraciously that she was probably stuck down here for the rest of the night with a moody Stan and the beginnings of a headache.

‘You might have flamin’ waited,’ Stan grumbled as he plonked down next to her. ‘Why’d you run off like that?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replied, not wanting to start yet another argument.

Stanley lit a cigarette and grumpily surveyed their surroundings. The ceiling lights were flickering behind their wire cages and the warden was preparing to shut the door. The sound of the ack-ack guns could already be heard down by the docks as the RAF boys hurried to fend off the enemy approach in their fighter planes.

The door closed with a heavy thud that made Julie flinch. Listening to the muffled sounds of the battle being waged overhead, she hugged Stan’s arm and tried to quell the terrible fear that was squirming and growing inside her. She hated being shut in, hated the thought of how deep they were below ground, and hoped to goodness the flickering lights didn’t fail and plunge them into profound darkness.

It was a fear born in childhood after one of her brothers had locked her in the coal-hole as a lark. She’d screamed and screamed for what felt like hours before someone found her, and she’d had nightmares for weeks after. It was the only time she’d seen her dad take a belt to any of them, and Freddy had yowled and blubbered and said he was sorry, but it hadn’t made her feel better, and she’d done her best to avoid tight, enclosed spaces ever since.

‘Sorry, love,’ Stan murmured. ‘I know I’ve been a moody so and so all evening, but it’s ’ard for a bloke, you know?’

She nodded against his arm, the smooth material of his sleeve feeling cool and comforting against her cheek. ‘I know, Stan, but it’ll all be worth the waiting. I promise.’

Stanley didn’t reply but just continued smoking his cigarette.

Julie closed her eyes and tried to shut out the crush of humanity around her, and the bangs and crumps overhead. She and Stan would be all right, she thought. They were just tired and out of sorts, and everyone had their ups and downs. They wouldn’t be normal if they didn’t.

The enemy raid seemed to go on and on, and Julie’s fear of being buried alive became almost too much to handle. She sat as close as she could to Stan, who’d managed, unbelievably, to fall asleep, and tried not to flinch or shiver every time a bomb went off, or the lights threatened to go out.

This was far worse than sitting it out under the stairs with Sadie and Val, for there had been no locked door barring her escape from the tenements. Now, in the bowels of the earth, she could feel the ground tremble under her feet, could hear the mortar shift and feel the dust drift down from the ceiling as the lights flickered and the walls shuddered. They were shut in here, with no avenue of escape. One direct hit, and it would all be over.

Julie determinedly pushed back these terrible thoughts and set her mind to the problems of her relationship with Stan. Perhaps she was wrong to wait – wrong to protect her virginity when all she really wanted was to make love to him – for she could die here tonight and never experience the mystery of all the things she’d read about and heard.

At last the raid ended, and within half an hour of the last enemy plane leaving, the all-clear went and the warden opened the door.

‘I’ve got to get back to the hostel,’ Julie said urgently to Stan, shaking him awake. ‘Will I see you on Wednesday?’

He slung his arm round her and gave her a hearty kiss as they shuffled along with the others towards the open doorway. ‘Wednesday it is,’ he murmured, ‘and I promise to be in a better mood, Jules.’

They emerged into a cold, damp night which seemed to be filled with smoke and ash and the ringing of ambulance and fire engine bells. It was after midnight, but the sky was orange with the reflection of the fires they could see raging near the docks and to the east, and evidence of bomb-blast could be seen in the shattered windows of the buildings opposite.

‘At least the Bull’s still standing,’ said Stan with a grin. ‘I’ll walk you back to the ’ostel and then pop in for a pint. I know it’s way past closing time, but the landlady keeps ’er side door open, and me throat’s as dry as chalk.’

Julie tucked her hand in his arm and they hurried down the road, dodging fallen masonry, raised paving stones and the vast jet of water that was coming from a broken main. The maintenance crews were already out in force, and Julie wondered if her dad was out in Stepney doing the same hasty repairs.

Stan wrapped his arms round her as they stood outside the hostel in the darkness. His kiss was warm and tender, his hug gentle. ‘See you Wednesday, gel,’ he murmured, his hand cupping her cheek, ‘and I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit . . .’ He grinned and shrugged. ‘Well, you know how it is, Jules.’

She gave him a light kiss on his lips and then nodded. ‘I do understand,’ she replied, ‘really I do.’ Not wanting to say anything that might lead him to believe she was beginning to soften to his persuasion, she turned away and hurried up the path to the front door. Blowing him a kiss, she slotted in her key and stepped into the hall.

‘Thank goodness you’re back,’ said a breathless Lily, who’d come racing out of the dining room. ‘There’s been a telephone call from Mrs Bessell. Franny’s gone into premature labour.’

Julie went cold. ‘Oh God,’ she breathed. ‘Did she call the ambulance?’

Lily nodded. ‘Franny was admitted over two hours ago and taken straight into surgery.’

Julie was already running up the stairs, peeling off her coat and scarf along the way as Lily pounded
after her. ‘Do you know what stage of labour Franny was in when she was admitted?’

Lily followed her into the bedroom, gathering up the discarded clothes Julie flung about as she frantically changed into fresh uniform. ‘I took the call and tried to calm ’er down, but she was in a bit of a dither and wasn’t making much sense,’ she said. ‘Apart from saying the waters had broken, she didn’t seem to know anything.’

Julie was fully dressed in her uniform by now. She grabbed her overcoat and struggled into it. ‘I’ll be at the hospital if Matron asks,’ she managed. The fear for Franny was making her pulse race and her head spin.

‘They won’t let you near ’er,’ Lily warned. ‘Relatives aren’t allowed to treat their own.’

‘I know that,’ Julie replied, already halfway through the door, ‘but the uniform will give me answers I won’t get as a civilian. Thanks, Lily,’ she called as she raced down the stairs and slammed the front door behind her.

The maternity hospital was across the road, and by the look of it had escaped any damage from the raid. A large pale-grey stone building, it took up most of the block and towered over the surrounding houses. Julie ran along the curved driveway and raced up the steps into reception.

‘Frances Harris, brought in about two hours or so ago. I’m her midwife,’ she panted to the rather startled nurse behind the desk.

‘She was taken straight into theatre,’ the nurse replied, eyeing Julie with barely disguised curiosity – most midwives didn’t come charging in here out of breath. ‘I don’t know anything else, but she should be out by now and in the recovery ward on the third floor. You can go up if you . . .’

Julie didn’t wait to hear any more but took the stairs two at a time, incurring more startled and disapproving looks from the other nurses she passed on the way. She stopped running as she reached the endless corridor and walked as fast as she could until she reached the recovery ward. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm her fears, she pushed through the swing doors.

The nurse on duty was at her desk, a reading light illuminating the charts and medical notes that were strewn across it. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked pleasantly.

‘I’m looking for me sister, Frances Harris,’ Julie replied, her gaze trawling over the numerous beds in search of her.

‘She’s not here, I’m sorry,’ replied the nurse.

‘But I was told she went into surgery over two hours ago, and she was only due to have a C-section.’

The nurse stood and patted her arm. ‘I can tell you’re worried,’ she said kindly, ‘but I really can’t help. Why don’t you go down to the ground floor and the ward next to the theatre? Someone there will know what’s going on.’

Julie hesitated, unwilling to accept that Franny
had been kept downstairs. Her sister must be in deep trouble. ‘You’re sure she’s not up here?’

The nurse shook her head. ‘We have four wards on this floor and I have all the patient notes here. Frances Harris isn’t among them.’

‘Thanks,’ Julie said briefly and shot out of the door, plummeted down the stairs and raced towards the theatre wing. If Franny was down here in the special ward, then it could only mean she was still classed as an emergency.

‘Please let her be all right,’ she muttered as she flew down the corridor. ‘Please, please be all right.’ She came to a skidding halt outside the door, her heart hammering, her fears making her tremble. She should have got Franny into hospital earlier – should have gone back to check on her instead of seeing Stan.

She stood there, afraid to go in. Eventually, her years of training and discipline took over and, realising she must look like a mad woman, she smoothed her hair, straightened her cap and apron and pushed through the doors.

There were only four other patients and when she saw Franny, she knew immediately that her worst fears had been realised. But as she headed for the bed which had an oxygen tank by its side, and numerous drip-feeds hanging above it, she was stopped by a warm, gentle hand on her arm.

She turned sharply and discovered it was the elderly and much loved surgeon, Mr Philips, who’d
come out of retirement for the duration. ‘What happened?’ she breathed.