The War Widows

‘Then you can be his wife,’ Ivy answered with her sour lemon smile.

‘Oh, no! I will be number one wife. I have a British passport and photograph of my intended. Joy Liat is his older daughter so I am number one.’ She was thinking on her feet, but then Ana burst into big sobs and blew her nose on her napkin.

‘These continentals are so emotional,’ said Ivy. ‘She’ll be weeping and wailing in church, making an exhibition of herself. Let them draw lots for who comes and who stays, I say.’

‘There’s no need to get upset. We will leave it to chance. Come on, son, fetch me my hat and some scrap paper. This is the fairest way,’ said Esme as she passed a clean hankie to Ana.

I am dreaming all of this, thought Su: the wind blowing outside the window rattling the panes, rain lashing down on the glass like tears, the flames of the heater and the flickering gaslamps on the walls, the black scarf over the family portrait of my beloved on the mantelpiece. Perhaps I will wake up and it will all be a bad dream. The girl next to me will have disappeared and I will wake in the bunk of the troopship, and my lover will be waiting at the dockside.

This was hardly the way to sort out such a pack of lies and half-truths but it was the best they could manage for the moment, thought Lily. Everyone was punch-drunk with shock and exhaustion, and resistance was low. Better to sort it out now and get their stories straight from the start.

‘There you go, girl, dip your hand in the hat. You go first.’ Levi was shoving the hat into Susan’s face. She picked out a folded slip of paper but did not open it. Then Ana picked out the other, opened it and smiled.

Lily saw the words, ‘Mrs Winstanley, Mrs Freddie Winstanley, number one widow.’ She sighed and Levi winked at her. It was a fix.

Susan rose from the table without a word and made for the stairs. Ana rose too but Lily held her back.

‘Let her have a few moments to herself. It has been a long day for all of us.’ She turned to Esme. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best if Miss Papawhotsit claims to be his proper wife. Susan has a British passport. Anastasia has nothing going for her but the fact that any dumb cluck can see that Concertina’s a Winstanley.’

The Greek girl sat down promptly.

‘Tell us about Freddie in Athens. How did you meet? Was he well? Tell a grieving mother about her son. How did he look?’ Esme pleaded.

‘I knew him very short time. He is kind man. We go many dances and I teach him Creta dancing. He told me to come…’ Then she burst into tears again.

Lily did her best to comfort her but half her mind was upstairs in the cold bedroom with the weeping Susan, the frozen girl who looked so lost. How could anyone not feel pity for them both?

She tiptoed upstairs, peering into the cot to see the sleeping half-sisters, top and tail, looking like little angels. Her heart was relieved to see that Susan was fast asleep. By her bedside was the tattered snapshot of Freddie in a Pierrot costume with a golden halo of curls sticking out of his cap, the snapshot the girl had carried halfway across the world. Lily didn’t know whether she wanted to cry or wring her brother’s neck for bringing this trouble to their door.

In that faraway world, he’d given them both comfort and loving. These girls knew lives she could hardly imagine, had journeyed into dark places just to bring their kiddies to safety and find Freddie again. It made her own world seem so small. No wonder Susan found everything so grey here. Their Grimbleton world was colourless and predictable but at least it was safe and would shelter these storm-tossed wanderers for a while…

Freddie would want her to give them protection but how to explain them away? Not even Walt knew the full truth yet. And his mother had a mouth on her the size of Morecambe Bay.

Still, the Almighty in His wisdom had dumped them here for a reason. It was up to Him to sort this lot out, and soon. All she knew was that tomorrow would begin the Winstanley family’s life of lies.

6 Farewell to Freddie (#ulink_2e4821c4-9939-5a34-8945-4c80dd29bf67)

‘Where’ve you been? I thought you’d run away with the coal man,’ whispered Walter as he pecked Lily on the cheek. ‘And what’s all this about Freddie’s wife and kiddy? I never knew he were wed.’

The jungle drums were at work already. Lily sighed as she struggled to bring in the washing from the line in the back yard of his house in Bowker’s Row. It was starting to rain and his mother was dozing in the leather armchair, blissfully unaware. There would be just time to iron Walt a clean shirt and unpack the shopping she had brought before they must set off for the memorial service.

‘We’ve not seen much of you these last weeks,’ yawned Elsie Platt, rubbing her striped brown slippers with holes cut out to accommodate her bunions. Her bulk was wired tightly, like an overstuffed mattress, into a black funeral outfit. A winter coat lay over the back of the chair with a fur tippet and black felt hat. Elsie loved a good funeral tea and a chance to give Waverley House the onceover.

‘Levi says it’s the talk of the Coach and Horses about the foreign girls who turned up at your place. Why am I the last to know anything?’ Walter sniffed, standing over her while she plugged the iron into the lampshade.

‘What’s wrong with the shirt he’s wearing, Lil? It was clean on yesterday,’ Elsie snapped.

It was hard to explain that a clean shirt and cuffs were important when the whole family was on show. Sometimes after a day on the stall and a night in Yates Wine Lodge, Walt was not as Lifebuoy fresh as he ought to be, poor lamb. She blamed Elsie, whose idea of housework was just to keep the smells down in the two up, two down terraced house. That inbred Lancashire pride in being spick and span with bright white nets, donkey-stoned steps and starched washing had somehow passed her by.

The Platts’ weekly wash was a steeping of smalls in the sink and hung out overnight, where it gathered sooty smuts, unless Lily took them back home herself. It wasn’t as if Walt’s mother had anyone else to look after, but it took all sorts, Lily supposed.

The Winstanleys would only pick holes in Walt’s appearance if he turned up shabby. They all needed to put on a united front on this sad occasion. She wanted no more sly digs about his appearance.

‘What’s all this about your Freddie? What’s the sly beggar been up to? I hear there’s nappies on your washing line?’ Elsie sniggered.

‘You’d think folk had nothing better to do than to count washing. It’s a long story and we’ve not time to be gossiping when there’s a service to be going to. I’ve brought the van to give you both a lift.’

‘His back won’t stand it in the rear of that, dear. You’d better take me and return for him later,’ said Elsie, rising to don her outdoor finery. ‘Will there be a collection? It’ll have to be a widow’s mite from me. You know how we are placed.’

‘I expect so, but don’t worry about it. You’ll have to make do as best you can with one trip, though. It’s not far and I’m running out of time.’

Did they think she was a taxi service and a laundry maid? There were a hundred jobs on her list and no time to get dressed properly. They were lucky that guilt at neglecting Walt had made her come early to sort them out. He was hopeless without her chivvying him up. That was one of the things she loved about him. He needed her.

When they arrived at Waverley House there was another fuss going on.

‘They’re not going dressed like that?’ Ivy stared at these new upstarts. She was bedecked in a dark suit with a fox fur draped over her shoulders. ‘Here, I found some mittens for them to cover their fingers. It’s chilly outside. I hope there’s a good turnout. We don’t want these two showing us up, do we?’

This was not a fashion parade or a celebration, thought Lily with only five minutes to tear off her old clothes and put on her winter best frock and tired coat. There was no time even to powder her nose. Usually Ivy would have nothing to do with Ana and Susan, sniffing down her nose every time they came in a room, and the offer of a pair of knitted gloves each was only so they could hide their ringless fingers from view.

The family assembled outside the house for the short walk to Zion Chapel, ambling slowly, flanking the two strangers on all sides to keep them out of view. There was a goodly crowd gathered by the church steps, waiting for the family to process in.

It was left to Lily to kit out Ana and Susan for church with warm coats and hats, stockings and suitable underwear for the chilly climate. They had no coupons for anything new.

Susan was so tiny she fitted into Lily’s old school gaberdine mac with a lined hood. Ana was wrapped in Grandma Crompton’s old fur coat, which hardly fitted across her swollen bust. But winter was coming early this year. They would not look out of place all muffled up.

Lily held little Joy’s hand as she struggled on the slippery pavement in her pixie hood and warm gaiters. Word was out about the strangers at Waverley House pushing a pram. It did cross her mind that half the crowd might be gathered today just to ogle. Esme covered her black hat with net veiling to hide her grief and her confusion. She was very quiet, too quiet, and Lily wondered how they would get through the service without someone breaking down. There was nothing to do but brazen it out.

‘You’ve heard about our big surprise then?’ Lily smiled up at neighbours, trying to look casual, hoping they wouldn’t notice how her voice was quaking.

‘It’s all round the Coach and Horses that young Freddie left his mark in Burma,’ whispered Doris Pickvance.

‘Then they were wrong as usual!’ Lily whispered back.

Bar-stool gossip could be so crude. Lily’s heart began to thud. What if everyone thought Su was Freddie’s wife? How could they pass Anastasia off as his bride instead? Perhaps they should change them round again. All this lying was hard work, so many pitfalls and tracks to cover over. Perhaps it was better to tell the plain truth.

All eyes were on the two strangers as they were led down a side aisle into a series of boxed cupboard pews. The mourners were put at the front in full view, waiting in silence until Reverend Atkinson, wearing his black gown, stood before the assembled family to welcome them and began the special service with the hymn ‘I vow to thee my country’.

Lily felt herself choking up. The tune brought back memories of schooldays. Why did she suddenly think of Pamela Pickvance and the ice slide?

It wasn’t that Pam was always horrid to her, it was just that she couldn’t rely on her as a friend. One minute she was all over her like a rash and then she ran off and ganged up with girls in the playground, pulling faces and calling her names.

Pam across the road was in the top class and ‘bonny’, which was a polite way of saying ‘fat’, round as a barrel with a nip on her like pincers. Her brother was even bigger and when the two of them stopped her on the way home to snatch her bus money, it made for a long walk on a wet night.

Funny how she would hand it over without a fight until Freddie started in the infants’ and she had to drag him along into the infants’ playground. Pam and Alf would wait until she had shoved him in the yard, then pounce. If she’d spent her pennies, they pulled off her ribbons and that meant bother at home. Mother thought she was careless and made her pay for some more. There was no point in telling tales when they lived across the road. She just put up with it hoping their bullying would go away.

Then came the bad snow and a chance to make an ice slide on the pavement, sliding down until it shone like glass. Pam and Alf started shoving her off, making her legs go sideways out onto the road. That was scary and she cried in front of them.

Freddie was watching, open-mouthed, seeing his sister sobbing, and suddenly he rushed at Pam and knocked her over. He pulled her by her pigtails until she screamed and when her big brother came to the rescue, he kicked him in the shins.