Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child Page 30

‘Flowers? Bed socks?’ Maurice enquired.

  ‘Barbara managed ter get ter see Brenda Massey an’ she found out a few fings,’ Lily said.

  ‘Like Granny ’avin’ cold feet in bed, I s’pose,’ Maurice groaned.

  The three young women nodded and then Maurice stood up with a very serious look on his face.

  ‘Now I want yer ter listen ter what I ’ave ter say,’ he began. ‘I expect the lot o’ yer are waitin’ fer some sort o’ praise. Well, I can tell yer now that what yer done fer me wasn’t very nice. It was bloody marvellous! So on Saturday night I’m takin’ yer all up the Kings Arms ter celebrate.’

  Laughter rang out in the Salter household, and when the frivolity finally died down, Maurice turned to Lily. ‘’Ere, luv, are those dresses from Tom Casey still under the stairs?’

  Now, as Maurice got ready to take his three daughters to the Kings Arms for the Saturday night celebratory drink, he addressed himself in front of the cracked scullery mirror. ‘Maurice, if yer store any more bent gear under the stairs may the devil jump out o’ there an’ do fer yer.’

  Then, as he turned his back on the mirror and slipped on his coat Maurice pulled a face. ‘The next lot o’ stuff goes under me bed,’ he mumbled aloud.

  The band was playing a waltz and Amy Brody danced dreamily in the arms of her current boy friend. Rachel, too, was on the floor, wincing now and again as her partner trod on her toes. Heavy-footed dancing partners seemed to be her lot at the Samson dance hall, she thought ruefully. She was feeling slightly disappointed with the evening. Hardly any of her old friends had turned up and the one or two who had were preoccupied with their partners. There had been little opportunity to chat and whenever Rachel took a breather Amy gushed on about her new beau.

  ‘I never did worry about men wearin’ glasses,’ she went on. ‘Some men look really attractive in glasses. Take Albert fer instance. ’E looks quite nice in those glasses ’e’s wearin’.’

  Rachel nodded, looking around at the motley gathering and feeling rather bored.

  ‘Albert was really upset when ’e failed ’is medical,’ Amy was saying. ‘’E wanted ter join the marines.’

  Rachel nodded again, glancing over at the young man in question and noticing that his suit hung from his slim shoulders and his Adam’s apple showed prominently above his loose shirt collar. She suppressed a smile, feeling that she was perhaps being unkind towards the young man. He might have made a good marine with training.

  ‘Albert works in the City. ’E’s a messenger fer a bank,’ Amy continued. ‘’E’s very romantic. ’E bought me a big bar o’ chocolate last week an’ then this week ’e came round wiv a bunch o’ flowers. We might get engaged next year.’

  The romantic young man had left his friends and was making his way over to Amy for the dance which had just struck up. Rachel took the opportunity to head off towards the bar, preferring that to the attentions of Albert’s clumsy friend. As she reached the foot of a wide flight of stairs, she saw the young soldier. He was wearing his uniform with his forage cap tucked through his jacket lapel. Rachel felt her face go hot as he smiled broadly at her and she almost slipped on the steps.

  ‘Well, if it ain’t my carriage companion,’ he said as he came up to her. ‘It sure is a small world.’

  ‘I was jus’ goin’ fer a drink,’ Rachel replied, suddenly at a loss for words.

  ‘Let me buy yer one,’ he offered, taking her arm as they climbed the stairs.

  Down on the dance floor Amy nestled in her young man’s arms as they weaved in and out of the less competent couples, and Rachel watched her as she waited for her escort to collect the drinks. Occasionally she looked his way, making sure he did not see her appraising him. Finally he came back and placed the gin and orange at her elbow.

  ‘My name’s Tony,’ he said as he sat down. ‘Tony O’Reilly.’

  ‘I’m Rachel,’ she replied.

  ‘I know. Rachel Bradley,’ he said.

  Rachel looked surprised. ‘’Ow did yer know my name?’ she asked.

  Tony grinned. ‘I ’ope yer don’t mind, but I bin makin’ enquiries. My ex knows yer family.’

  ‘Ex?’

  ‘Yeah. We sort o’ parted. We ’ad a row the last time I saw yer. Janie seemed ter fink I was payin’ too much attention to yer.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Rachel said quickly.

  ‘Oh, don’t bovver ter be sorry,’ Tony grinned. ‘I was goin’ back off leave an’ Janie wasn’t too ’appy about that eivver. Apparently she’s found a new boy friend.’

  ‘I remember yer tellin’ me it was compassionate leave,’ Rachel said. ‘Yer mum was ill, wasn’t she? ’Ow is she now?’

  ‘She’s not too bad at the moment,’ Tony replied.

  ‘Where yer stationed?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘We’re regrouping up in Catterick,’ he replied quietly. ‘We got decimated at Dunkirk.’

  ‘You were at Dunkirk?’ she said surprised.

  ‘I was one o’ the lucky ones,’ Tony said, looking down at his clasped hands. ‘A lot didn’t make it back, an’ there was a lot wounded while we were waitin’ ter be taken off the beaches.’

  Rachel thought of Jamie Robins. ‘I know a young man who lost a leg at Dunkirk,’ she said sadly.

  Tony shuddered and quickly downed his drink. For a few moments he sat looking at the dancers, but Rachel could see his mind was elsewhere. Suddenly she felt very close to him, wanting to take the young man to her and hold him tightly. At that moment it seemed as though they were the only two at the dance hall and a feeling of elation possessed her. She could feel her face growing hot once more and she struggled to relax, breathing slowly and deeply.

  ‘Are yer all right?’ Tony asked, his eyes upon her.

  Rachel nodded and smiled. ‘Let me buy yer a drink,’ she said.

  Tony shook his head. ‘I’ll get ’em,’ he replied, standing up and reaching for the glasses.

  Suddenly, almost without thinking, Rachel caught his hand in hers. ‘I got a better idea,’ she said breezily. ‘Let’s dance.’

  Tony shook his head in embarrassment. ‘I don’t dance,’ he said quickly.

  ‘Anybody can dance, at least wiv me they can,’ Rachel told him.

  Tony reluctantly allowed himself to be led to the edge of the dance floor and as Rachel held up her arms he slipped his arm round her waist.

  ‘That’s fine. Now put yer arm up higher, jus’ below me shoulder,’ she urged him. ‘Now just ’old me ’and loosely but firmly. That’s better.’

  They moved across the polished floor, and as Tony began to relax Rachel found him to be light on his feet. She could smell lavender water and Lifebuoy soap and he breathed in the perfume she was wearing and the sweet aroma of her hair. They danced closely, yet not holding too tightly, their thighs touching as she prompted the movements. Tony sighed to himself at the very pleasure of the dance while Rachel closed her eyes, wanting to savour the moment. He was a natural, she felt.

  The evening wore on and Rachel found herself drawn to the young man more and more. He did not try to assert himself, but through his modesty and friendliness he made a strong impression on her. They talked of the war and its effect on people’s lives, and of Rachel’s family, about whom Tony seemed very interested. When she asked him about his family he became less talkative. She did not try to press him, and when another waltz finally started up, the young soldier was the first to get to his feet.

  The night had settled over the river and the backstreets that adjoined the docks and wharves as Tony walked along beside Rachel. They had left Amy and her boy friend at the tram stop, preferring to stroll through the quiet streets together. Tony chatted easily, his dark eyes flashing at her occasionally.

  ‘Yer know, we was destined ter meet,’ he told her. ‘Jus’ fink of all the people I could ’ave sat wiv in that train an’ it ’ad ter be you.’

  Rachel smiled. ‘Tell me somefing,’ she said. ‘’Ow come yer went ter that dance ternight? After all, yer don’
t live in Rovver’ithe.’

  ‘My ex-girl friend does though, but that wasn’t why I went there ternight,’ he hastened to add. ‘I went there in the ’ope of seein’ you.’

  ‘I was ’opin’ ter see you too,’ Rachel said, surprised at her own forwardness. ‘I wondered over the weeks where yer were, if yer’d gone overseas.’

  ‘Can I see yer termorrer?’ Tony asked suddenly. ‘I’m due back on Monday.’

  ‘If yer’d like to,’ she replied.

  ‘I’d like to very much,’ he said.

  They walked on, past the plane trees through which they glimpsed the dark, eerie shapes of the high cranes, their footsteps sounding loudly on the empty pavement. Rachel had not taken his arm, though she was walking close to him, and it was only when they crossed the main road that Tony briefly held her by the elbow. Rachel shivered and slipped up the collar of her beige coat, less against the elements than her own emotions. Tony had excited her and reawakened secret feelings that seemed to have died after the tragic death in action of her first love.

  Tony too, was feeling strangely excited. He found the beautiful young woman very warm and friendly, with a sense of fun hidden behind her serious demeanour. He had already learned something of Rachel’s family during the long talk with his mother, who had repeated the warning issued by George Galloway that he should not tell anyone of the plans made on his behalf.

  They reached Salmon Lane and as they turned into the street Tony moved over to be on the outside, a little courtesy that pleased Rachel and she smiled at him.

  ‘What time termorrer?’ she asked.

  ‘Let’s spend the day up town,’ he suggested. ‘I could call fer yer early, say ten o’clock.’

  Rachel felt a surge of excitement running through her but she pretended to think about it for a moment or two. ‘Yes, all right, I’ll be ready at ten.’

  There was no goodnight kiss, only a brief hand on her arm as he turned to leave. ‘I really enjoyed this evenin’,’ he said.

  Rachel stood at the yard gate and waited until he had reached the end of the turning and passed out of sight. What did the future hold for them both? she wondered, pressing her finger on the yard bell-push. Was it sensible to think about what was to come in times like these? She heard Joe’s footsteps in the yard and, with a brief look up into the star-filled sky, Rachel made a secret wish.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  At breakfast time on a bright morning the following week, Rachel sat chatting with her friend Mary Hannen in the dining hall. The sky above West Marden was clear, with only a wisp of cloud, and an early sun shone through the dirty windows onto freshly scrubbed tables. The two friends were both on early shift that morning and during the few minutes’ free time left to them Mary listened with keen interest as Rachel talked excitedly about her budding romance.

  ‘We took the early tram ter the Embankment an’ walked all around the West End,’ she told her. ‘Then we went inter this posh cafe fer coffee, an’ then we went inter St James’s Park. It was really romantic.’

  ‘Did you have a kiss and cuddle in the park?’ Mary asked with a grin.

  ‘’E put ’is arm round me an’ we chatted a lot. ’E’s really nice.’

  ‘What did you do then?’ her friend pressed her.

  ‘Well, we stayed in the park fer quite a time,’ Rachel replied, ‘then we walked along Piccadilly an’ went ter see this exhibition that was on. It was all about sculpture.’

  Mary pulled a face. ‘I bet that was boring.’

  ‘No, it was really good,’ Rachel said. ‘We went ter the pictures in Leciester Square after that ter see Northwest Passage wiv Spencer Tracy. It was smashin’.’

  ‘What about when Tony brought you back home? Did you let him kiss you, passionately?’ Mary asked with a saucy smile.

  Rachel nodded, feeling her face getting red. She remembered that Tony had seemed reluctant to make the first move but then, when he suddenly came closer and slipped his hands on her waist, he had certainly kissed her with passion. Rachel recalled the feeling she had experienced as his body pressed against hers. It was delicious, and her heart pounded as his lips met hers in a long, lingering kiss which left her breathless.

  ‘Well? Was it nice?’ Mary repeated, enjoying her friend’s embarrassment.

  ‘Course it was.’

  ‘Did he try to get you going?’

  ‘’Ow d’yer mean?’

  ‘You know, did his hands start wandering?’

  Rachel flashed her friend a quick look. ‘No, they didn’t. Tony was very proper,’ she said indignantly.

  Mary grinned back at her. ‘Tim wasn’t. The first time we went out together he was all hands. Men are all the same. It just takes some of them a little longer to get round to it.’

  Their conversation was interrupted as the orderly officer came over to the table. ‘You’re wanted in admin, Hannen,’ he said in an unusually quiet tone.

  Mary shrugged her shoulders at Rachel as she hurried away. A few minutes later, as Rachel was making her way from the mess hall to the plotting room some distance away, the air-raid siren suddenly wailed out.

  ‘Take cover!’ a voice screamed out.

  Rachel saw the officer running and at that instant she heard the loud roar of planes. Suddenly she saw them swooping down over the airfield, flashes of light coming from their wings. Personnel were throwing themselves flat, caught out in the open and unable to reach the dugouts in time.

  Rachel turned towards a nearby mound of sandbags piled round a gun emplacement and threw herself down just in time as the first Messerschmitt passed over her. Other planes screamed low out of the clear blue sky and she pressed her hands tightly over her ears and gritted her teeth, her heart pounding madly, expecting any second to be blasted from her meagre hiding place.

  The planes roared off, climbing high now, leaving behind them the first casualties West Marden had experienced. Someone was screaming out for help and as Rachel raised her head above the sandbags she saw the carnage. Two aircraftmen were lying still, their bodies twisted in grotesque positions, and one young aircraftwoman was sitting upright on the edge of the runway, holding the top of her arm and crying for help. Everyone seemed to be running now and the gun crew opened up beside Rachel, the deafening noise making her ears hurt.

  ‘Get in the dugout quick as you can!’ a flight sergeant ordered her as he hurried past.

  Rachel dashed for the shelter while there was still a lull and as she hurried down the steep steps, she heard the roar again. This time it was more of a scream and a voice from the dugout shouted, ‘Stukas!’

  The dive bombers were dropping almost vertically and as they pulled out of the dive their bombs were released. One blasted concrete and earth skywards, leaving a large crater in the middle of the runway. Other bombs hit the hanger and another explosive turned a parked Hurricane into a ball of flame.

  The Messerschmitts were returning, strafing the airfield with their machine-guns. Spurts of earth and tarmac shot up as the bullets hit and the planes climbed quickly, turning to make another run over the almost defenceless airfield.

  Some pilots were able to take off before the airstrip was put out of action and they joined combat high over the Kent fields. A Stuka crashed in flames and another seemed to disintegrate in mid-air. White, shocked faces peered from the dugouts at the inferno, and as the roar of the attacking Messerschmitts increased, Rachel saw Mary. She was walking towards the billet, totally unconcerned by all that was taking place around her. It was as if she was in a trance, sleepwalking through the carnage, her head held low as though deep in thought.

  Rachel screamed out her name but it had no effect on her. She walked on as the roar reached a new crescendo. Bullets spurted around her and one of the mechanics suddenly left the safety of the dugout and ran as fast as he could towards her, his head thrust forward. As he reached her he threw her to the ground, covering her with his body. All around them debris flew up into the air from the planes’ cannon and bullets,
and flames licked at destroyed aircraft that had been caught in the surprise attack.

  The enemy planes climbed high towards the Hurricanes and Spitfires in combat above them, and Rachel gave a cry of joy as the two prone figures on the tarmac started to move. Mary was gripping a piece of paper as she was quickly led into the dugout and made to sit.

  ‘You could have got killed!’ the mechanic shouted at her angrily.

  Mary looked through him, her eyes dull and lifeless. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispered. ‘It just doesn’t matter.’

  The mechanic was about to say something more but Rachel shook her head at him. ‘What is it?’ she asked Mary quietly.

  Mary just stared into space and Rachel reached for the paper clutched tightly in her hand. ‘Let me see,’ she said gently.