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Authors: Annie Wilkinson
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streets on her own till this time? Anything could have happened to her. What if there’d been a raid?’
‘She’d have known to go to the shelter.’
‘A 6-year-old? What if she’d been hurt?’
‘Come off it, Marie. She’d have been among neighbours. People pouring out of their houses, neighbours who knew her. Somebody would have helped her.’
‘At times like that, people might be too busy looking after themselves and their own. And it’s her own mother that should be the one helping her.’
‘Yes, of course she should, but you can’t impose your standards on other people. And how do you know she’s six?’
‘She can’t be more. I’ve seen her going to school, and she’s not been going that long.’
Marie could barely speak to Charles when they got back to the house.
‘You’re tired,’ he said, trying to placate her, ‘and overwrought. With good reason, I know.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Too tired to invite me in for a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Don’t I even get a kiss? I’ll be off tomorrow.’
She kissed him on the cheek with as much grace as she could muster.
He held her waist in two strong hands, and gazed deep into her eyes. ‘Will you come and see me off?’
‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow morning before you go,’ she said, turning her face away to evade a kiss. ‘I’ll just have time before I start work.’
She watched him get back in the car and managed to wave him off fairly civilly as he drove away, then went in and closed the door, not best pleased with Charles for taking Hannah’s side
when she was so clearly in the wrong.
Within half an hour she was in bed, desperate to get enough sleep to see her through her next shift at the hospital. Again sleep eluded her. There was nothing she could think of with an easy
mind; nowhere she could rest her thoughts and feel tranquil. Her mother had been transferred to the hospital in Beverley, and was out of danger, but still gravely ill. As soon as she was a bit
better the hospital would want to discharge her, and who was there to care for her but her daughter? She would have to leave work, and then what would they do for money? No, she couldn’t
leave work, she’d bring Pam back from the Stewarts to help, but that might not be easy. Pam had her feet well under the table there, and it was a better spread table than anything Marie could
provide. Pam seemed to belong more to the Stewarts now than to her own family. Never mind! If Pam was needed at home, she’d have to come home, and that was the end of it.
And that bloody woman Hannah, having men round while her husband was risking his life on the convoys. He might already be dead; hadn’t Mr Elsworth said that 700,000 tons of shipping had
gone to the bottom already? And God knows how many men. But that obviously didn’t bother Hannah. And poor little Jenny – left out all evening and then nearly getting her head knocked
off. Poor little scrap – somebody had to stick up for bairns like that.
But what rankled most was Charles. He’d been a dead loss, not only failing to back her up, but apologizing to that slut! ‘I’m sorry, Hannah, you’ll have to excuse
her,’ he’d said. Outrageous! Talking about her as if she were deranged! Her thoughts flitted back to Alfie then, crying and pleading to come home, and she pictured herself as hard and
cruel as Hannah, fobbing him off instead of comforting him, and then waltzing off and leaving him to the tender mercies of the widow and her son. Alfie wanted to come to the funeral, and it might
be soon – something else to face.
She got up and wrote a letter to Pam but left it unsealed. She’d finish it and send it as soon as she knew something definite. That done, she went back to bed to toss and turn, sleep
little and fitfully, and wake from time to time in the middle of dreams of attacks on defenceless children who changed from Jenny into Alfie and then back again, until they were one and the same.
She
‘She’d have known to go to the shelter.’
‘A 6-year-old? What if she’d been hurt?’
‘Come off it, Marie. She’d have been among neighbours. People pouring out of their houses, neighbours who knew her. Somebody would have helped her.’
‘At times like that, people might be too busy looking after themselves and their own. And it’s her own mother that should be the one helping her.’
‘Yes, of course she should, but you can’t impose your standards on other people. And how do you know she’s six?’
‘She can’t be more. I’ve seen her going to school, and she’s not been going that long.’
Marie could barely speak to Charles when they got back to the house.
‘You’re tired,’ he said, trying to placate her, ‘and overwrought. With good reason, I know.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Too tired to invite me in for a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Don’t I even get a kiss? I’ll be off tomorrow.’
She kissed him on the cheek with as much grace as she could muster.
He held her waist in two strong hands, and gazed deep into her eyes. ‘Will you come and see me off?’
‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow morning before you go,’ she said, turning her face away to evade a kiss. ‘I’ll just have time before I start work.’
She watched him get back in the car and managed to wave him off fairly civilly as he drove away, then went in and closed the door, not best pleased with Charles for taking Hannah’s side
when she was so clearly in the wrong.
Within half an hour she was in bed, desperate to get enough sleep to see her through her next shift at the hospital. Again sleep eluded her. There was nothing she could think of with an easy
mind; nowhere she could rest her thoughts and feel tranquil. Her mother had been transferred to the hospital in Beverley, and was out of danger, but still gravely ill. As soon as she was a bit
better the hospital would want to discharge her, and who was there to care for her but her daughter? She would have to leave work, and then what would they do for money? No, she couldn’t
leave work, she’d bring Pam back from the Stewarts to help, but that might not be easy. Pam had her feet well under the table there, and it was a better spread table than anything Marie could
provide. Pam seemed to belong more to the Stewarts now than to her own family. Never mind! If Pam was needed at home, she’d have to come home, and that was the end of it.
And that bloody woman Hannah, having men round while her husband was risking his life on the convoys. He might already be dead; hadn’t Mr Elsworth said that 700,000 tons of shipping had
gone to the bottom already? And God knows how many men. But that obviously didn’t bother Hannah. And poor little Jenny – left out all evening and then nearly getting her head knocked
off. Poor little scrap – somebody had to stick up for bairns like that.
But what rankled most was Charles. He’d been a dead loss, not only failing to back her up, but apologizing to that slut! ‘I’m sorry, Hannah, you’ll have to excuse
her,’ he’d said. Outrageous! Talking about her as if she were deranged! Her thoughts flitted back to Alfie then, crying and pleading to come home, and she pictured herself as hard and
cruel as Hannah, fobbing him off instead of comforting him, and then waltzing off and leaving him to the tender mercies of the widow and her son. Alfie wanted to come to the funeral, and it might
be soon – something else to face.
She got up and wrote a letter to Pam but left it unsealed. She’d finish it and send it as soon as she knew something definite. That done, she went back to bed to toss and turn, sleep
little and fitfully, and wake from time to time in the middle of dreams of attacks on defenceless children who changed from Jenny into Alfie and then back again, until they were one and the same.
She
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