Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child Read online

  The train had been shunted in from a siding and it was empty. Derek slid open a compartment door and took his time getting the cases stowed in the luggage rack, hoping it would stop other passengers choosing that particular compartment.

  The whistle sounded and the train jerked out of the station. Rachel sat back in her seat and eyed Derek saucily. ‘Well, we’re alone,’ she said. ‘Gi’ me a kiss.’

  Derek looked towards the door before slipping his arm round her, and then their lips met.

  The train gathered speed, and as the evening sun dipped away in the west, dark clouds were arriving to the east. The two young lovers stared out of the window, noticing the signs of war. Sandbags, steel police boxes, shelters and warning notices were apparent everywhere, and when the train began to leave the city behind, other preparations were just as evident in the countryside. Tank traps, barbed wire, concrete pillboxes and trenches sprawled across the fields and hedgerows, and as darkness descended the lights would be smothered.

  The compartment door was suddenly flung open. ‘ ’Ello, me dearies, I wondered if I’d find yer,’ the old lady said smiling.

  Derek groaned inwardly and Rachel gave the woman a polite smile.

  ‘There’s a nice young man mindin’ me case,’ she said. ‘I’m jus’ stretchin’ me legs. They get a bit stiff what wiv the sittin’. They’ll be all right though. Need ter get the blood flowin’. D’yer mind if I sit ’ere fer a while? I feel a bit tired all of a sudden.’

  Derek leaned forward and took the old lady’s arm, easing her down into the seat opposite him, and she gave him an appreciative smile. ‘Yer do look like my Albert,’ she said.

  Rachel looked through the carriage window at the trees and fields which were gradually assuming the colours of autumn. She felt strangely at peace with everything and unconcerned at the woman’s intrusion, unlike Derek, who appeared to be agitated and ill at ease.

  ‘’Ow long are yer stayin’ in Brighton?’ the old lady asked, clasping her hands in her lap.

  ‘Just a week,’ Rachel answered. ‘Derek’s due back on Sunday night.’

  The woman smiled at the two young people, her eyes moving from one to the other. ‘Are you two finkin’ o’ gettin’ married then?’ she asked suddenly.

  Rachel nodded and gave Derek a quick glance to gauge his reaction but he merely shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’s a lot ter fink about,’ he said, ‘what wiv the war.’

  The old lady sighed and leaned her head against the seat cushion. ‘It’s a tryin’ time fer all of us, but it’s ’arder fer young people,’ she said quietly. ‘None o’ my children are married yet. Albert’s engaged though.’

  ‘We’re finkin’ o’ gettin’ engaged,’ Rachel said, giving Derek a challenging look.

  The young man smiled sheepishly. ‘Yeah, we are, pretty soon,’ he said, folding his arms and trying to look determined.

  For a while the old woman stared out of the carriage window, then she looked at Rachel. ‘Brighton’s a nice place. I remember the last time I was in Brighton,’ she said. ‘It was a lovely summer’s day an’ I was walkin’ along the seafront wiv me daughter. Anyway, there was this gypsy fortune-teller’s place by the steps what led down ter the sands, an’ my Margie ses ter me, “What about gettin’ our fortunes told, Mum?” Well, ter be honest, I don’t go a lot on them there people who look inter those crystal balls. I fink it’s a load o’ rubbish. Anyway we went in an’ ’ad our fortunes told an’ the gypsy said I’d be in fer a good spell o’ luck durin’ the next few months, an’ she told me there’d be some money comin’ ter me.’

  ‘Was she right?’ Rachel asked.

  The old lady snorted. ‘Luck? Gawd ’elp us, dearie, this past year I’ve ’ad nuffink but bad luck,’ she replied. ‘First me’usband died of a stroke, then I fell down the stairs an’ ended up in ’orspital fer nigh on four months wiv me back, an’ ter crown it all me ’usband’s insurance policy ’adn’t bin paid up. I didn’t get a penny. That wasn’t all neivver. My Sammy got nicked and sent ter Borstal, an’ if that wasn’t enough, I lost the little cleanin’ job I ’ad. Talk about luck.’

  Rachel gave the old lady a sympathetic smile. ‘We won’t get our fortunes told, will we, Derek?’ she said. ‘I’d sooner not know if anyfink bad was gonna ’appen.’

  The old woman nodded and eased her position on the seat. ‘Mind you, though, some people carry luck around wiv ’em,’ she said, looking at the two young lovers in turn. ‘I don’t mean them there little good luck charms yer can buy. I mean luck that seems ter be wiv yer all the time. Some people say them that’s got it lead a charmed life, ovvers say it’s the luck o’ the devil. You look like yer carry good luck wiv yer, if yer don’t mind me sayin’ so, dearie.’

  Rachel smiled. ‘I ’ope yer right,’ she replied.

  ‘Like I say, I don’t believe in them crystal balls fortune-tellers, ’ the old lady went on. ‘Ter be honest, I fink the only way ter tell yer fortune properly is ter look in yer ’and. I really do. Yer see, when yer in the womb an’ the good Lord gives yer life,’E also gives yer yer fortune. ’E puts it in yer tiny little ’ands an’ the print of it is there when yer actually born. We’ve all got it. Now there’s some that can read the signs what’s there. It’s a gift, yer see. People ’ave told me I’ve got the gift, but I don’t do much palm-readin’ now. I’d read your palm though, if yer like.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘I’d be scared yer’d see somefink,’ she replied.

  Derek put his hand on Rachel’s arm. ‘Go on, let ’er do it,’ he said grinning.

  The old lady leaned forward and took Rachel’s hand in hers, pressing downwards on the young woman’s fingers, stretching the palm. For a few moments she stared down, her face expressionless, then she smiled briefly. ‘Yes, it’s ’ere. I can see it clearly,’ she said. ‘I can see yer carry good luck, an’ the life line’s very strong. There’s somefink else too. Yer goin’ ter be very ’appy in life, provided yer strong, but there’s goin’ ter be a decision ter take. There’s money. Yes, I can see money, but it’s not very clear accordin’ ter the lines. I fink the best fing I can advise is ter follow yer intuition. Be bold and firm, dearie.’

  Rachel withdrew her hand from the old lady’s limp grip and leaned back in her seat, smiling at Derek. ‘Right, I’ve ’ad my fortune told, now what about you?’ she said.

  Derek looked at the old lady. ‘Would yer do mine?’ he asked.

  She reached out to him and took his right hand in hers and suddenly her face took on a puzzled expression. ‘That’s strange,’ she said. ‘I can’t seem ter get a readin’. Tell me, are yer left’anded?’

  Derek nodded, looking a little surprised. ‘I am as a matter o’ fact,’ he replied.

  When the woman took his left hand she stared down for a few moments, as with Rachel’s reading, but this time her face took on a look of concentration. ‘There’s good signs, but yer must be careful,’ she said. ‘I can’t see money, but yer’ll be ’appy in life.’

  ‘What’s me life line show?’ Derek asked with bravado.

  ‘It’s strong,’ the old lady said, releasing her grip on his hand and leaning back against the seat cushion. ‘Yer know, readin’ palms takes a lot out o’ me,’ she said, rubbing a hand over her brow. ‘I get very tired. I fink I should be gettin’ back, or that young man who’s mindin’ me suitcase is gonna be worried I’ve fell orf the train or somefink.’

  As soon as the old lady had left, Derek turned to Rachel. ‘Yer don’t believe in that load o’ twaddle, do yer?’ he asked with a smile.

  ‘Course I don’t,’ she replied. ‘It was just a bit o’ fun.’

  Derek leaned towards her and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. ‘Well, it seems I’m never gonna be rich,’ he laughed.

  ‘Just stay safe, that’s all I want fer yer,’ Rachel replied, letting her head dip onto his shoulder and closing her eyes.

  Dolly Dawson hummed happily to herself as she rubbed the wet whitening stone on her front doorstep. Life
had suddenly changed for the better, and she could hardly believe it. Josiah was home and had found himself a labouring job with a local builder. He had changed more than she had dared to hope, and he really seemed to be trying his best to be patient with the children. Wallace had hugged him when he arrived home and where once Josiah would have pushed him away, he held him tight and patted the young man’s back reassuringly. The boys were soon chatting happily to their father and young Joyce seemed to be at ease with him after her initial coyness. When the children had been put to bed and Wallace had gone to his room, Josiah had kissed her passionately and sworn that his bad days were over for good.

  Dolly smiled to herself as she remembered the way he had held her hand, something he had not done since their courting days, and led the way to their bedroom. He had been ill at ease at first, but with her prompting he had loved her fully, and then slept with his arms round her like a frightened child. Josiah was like a child really, Dolly thought. He was a simple man who found it difficult to read and write and converse with his neighbours, though he had chatted away quite comfortably with the young man next door. They seemed a nice couple, and their children were well behaved. It was just as well she had forewarned them about Wallace though. He was harmless of course, but he tended to be misunderstood. He certainly had been by the last people who lived next door. That miserable old man and his busybody of a wife had not been friendly at all, and they seemed to think that Wallace had deliberately tried to burn their house down. Anyway, that was in the past now. It was going to get better from now on. The people in the street seemed very friendly. Maisie’s nice, Dolly thought, and that Sadie too, though I wouldn’t like to fall out with her. Maudie seemed friendly, but she was a bundle of nerves. Still, she couldn’t help that. I must remember to warn Wallace again about playing with those matches in case there’s an accident, Dolly told herself. We can’t afford to fall out with that nice family next door.

  Carrie leaned back in the office chair and rubbed her eyes. She had finished the wages and had completed the task of sorting through the new batch of official forms that seemed to be for ever coming through the letterbox. She had been pleased at the initial response to her application for deferment for her clerk Jamie Robins, but had been a little taken aback by his seeming lack of enthusiasm when she told him that there was a good chance he could stay on at the firm. Jamie had appeared to be preoccupied lately, and she had often noticed a worried look on his thin face as he worked away at his desk. She had been tempted more than once to ask him if there was anything troubling him but she felt he might think she was prying into his personal business.

  Carrie kicked off her high-heeled shoes and rubbed her aching feet. It had been a very tiring day but at least the transport was running well, she thought with a sigh of thanks. Paddy Byrne had taken to driving the Leyland as though he had been driving lorries all his life and he was now on the regular contract with the rum merchants. Tom Armfield and Tubby Walsh were driving the new five-ton Fodens, and Ben Davidson, the new driver, seemed to fit in very well. He was experienced on the roads and seemed to know quite a lot about the mechanics. He would come in handy, she thought.

  The wintry evening was chilly and darkness was falling as Carrie sat thinking in the quietness of the office. How things had changed, she sighed. Marrying Fred had been right, despite her reservations, and the guilt that had once tormented her was dying away now. He had been a very good husband and she really had grown to love him. Not in the very physical way that she now loved Joe, but in a more ordinary, everyday sort of way. He had provided for her, and it was through her partnership with Fred and hard work that she had finally been able to get her parents out of that terrible slum Bacon Buildings. It had allowed her to purchase this business and to prosper, she could never forget that. There had been a lot of sadness since then too; Joe leaving her, and her father dying. Seeing those horses being walked up into the horseboxes and driven away had brought tears to her eyes. It would have upset her father too, had he lived to see it, there was no doubting that. At least they had not gone to the knackers yard like some of the other local firms’ horses. It was sad about Sharkey Morris too. He had been ailing of late, and losing his wife had affected him very badly. The job had got too much for him and reluctantly he had stopped working at the yard. At least he had said he would call in occasionally for a cup of tea and a chat.

  Carrie left the office and crossed the yard, glancing back to the open space where the stables once stood. Two days it had taken the demolition men to knock the stables to the ground, and all that was left to remind her of the horses was the watering trough at the rear of the yard and a couple of iron hitching rings on the back wall. Everything else was gone for ever, she thought sadly; the nightly sounds of the animals moving in their stalls and the sharp metallic clip of iron hooves on cobblestones, the bellowing of the horses into their nosebags and mangers, and the sound of chaff-cutting and clatter of the wagons as they rolled in and out of the yard. Now there was the throaty noise of the lorries warming up and the roar as they pulled out through the gates. Times were changing, Carrie thought with some regret, and now a new menace faced everyone. The war was only a few weeks old and apart from battles at sea, it was peaceful and quiet. How long could it last? Would the expected bombing come one night and destroy everything? Would she and her loved ones survive to see peace once more?

  ‘Carrie?’ Joe called from the front door. ‘What yer standin’ there for? Yer look miles away.’

  She gave him an embarrassed smile. ‘I was jus’ lookin’ at those old ’itchin’ rails, Joe,’ she replied. ‘I was finkin’ ’ow quiet it is now the ’orses ’ave gone.’

  She walked over to him and he put his arm round her. ‘Are yer ’appy, Carrie?’ he asked. ‘Are yer really ’appy?’

  She reached up and kissed him. ‘I’m very ’appy, darlin’,’ she answered. ‘Just worried about the war, an’ Rachel. Will she lose that young man ter the war?’

  ‘We can only pray, sweet’eart, we can only pray,’ Joe said softly.

  The little tea room was empty apart from two couples who sat chatting at their separate tables. The elderly couple were dressed in country tweeds, the large man with a bright red face occasionally shaking his head as he listened to the constant chatter of his thin-faced, grey-haired female companion.

  ‘It really is disgusting,’ she was saying. ‘I was only talking to that nice Mrs Greenidge who lives at Rose Cottage in Sandy Lane. She has two billeted with her. Do you know they wet the bed? Goodness gracious me, it’s too much. Those children had head lice too. Mrs Greenidge was telling me she had to teach them how to hold a knife and fork. They sat down to their tea and started eating with their fingers. Their clothes were filthy and their manners absolutely appalling. It really is too much. They’re little monsters, they really are.’

  ‘Guttersnipes,’ was all the large man had a chance to say before the thin-faced woman resumed her attack on Goudham’s most recent arrivals from London.

  The other couple were seated by the window, both incensed at what they were overhearing. Billy Sullivan gritted his teeth and Annie sat with an angry look on her pale face, aware of her husband’s jaw muscles clenching.

  ‘The children are really settling in nicely,’ she said, in an effort to divert Billy’s attention. ‘They’ve made a lot of friends and I’m managing to get some more training in at the home. What about you, Billy? You look tired and drawn. Are you eating properly?’

  Billy glanced across at the two villagers and scowled darkly. Annie quickly took his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. ‘Look, Billy, there’s no need to get yourself worked up over the likes of them,’ she said quietly. ‘They’re not typical of the people around here. I’ve got to know lots of folk who’ve got evacuees billeted with them and they’re really wonderful. Just ignore them. They’re not worth spoiling our few hours together over.’

  Billy let his shoulders sag and he gave Annie a bright smile. ‘Yer right, luv. Sorry, what
was yer sayin’?’

  ‘I said you were looking pale and drawn, and I asked if you were eating properly,’ she said with a slight note of irritation in her voice.

  ‘Of course I’m eatin’ well,’ he replied. ‘Iris an’ Danny make me go ter their place every Sunday fer me dinner an’ I often call in to ’ave a chat wiv ’em in the evenin’s.’

  ‘Well, see you keep it up,’ Annie said firmly.

  The village couple were leaving and the large man was still nodding in dutiful agreement with his wife’s complaints as the two walked out through the door. As soon as they had left, the young waitress came over to the window table. ‘I do hope they didn’t upset you,’ she said, addressing Annie. ‘I know you come from London by your husband’s accent.’ She looked briefly at Billy and smiled. ‘They really are a detestable pair. We’ve got two little boys staying with us and they’re really sweet.’

  Annie touched the waitress’s arm in a warm gesture. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sure most people here are very friendly and understanding towards the evacuees. I’ve found it so.’