Читать книгу Heartache for the Shop Girls - Joanna Toye - Страница 7

It wasn’t till after tea that Jim got the full story out of Les. Under the pretence of giving Bobby, newly fed and changed, some air, they went out into the yard where the hens scratched tirelessly if pointlessly in their run. Les was already looking a bit less peaky. He’d certainly eaten a giant tea.

‘So, this fever …’ Jim began.

Beryl had already told them with a hint of pride that Les’s records had gone to the Hospital for Tropical Diseases in London as an interesting case.

‘I’d never heard of it,’ answered Les, shifting his body slightly to protect the baby’s eyes from the bright sky. ‘It’s not that bad in itself. But I had complications.’

‘Right …’ So there had been something else – just as Jim and Lily had suspected.

‘I carried on, see, thought it was gippy tummy or heatstroke – they were always warning us about that. By the time I came over real queer, it had taken hold. I had this kind of seizure, woke up in hospital and my legs had gone all floppy. You know how they hit you with that little hammer? Not a thing.’

‘My God, Les. Scary.’

‘It was. I thought it was polio or something. But they said … let me get this right … the fever had gone to … encephalitis, is it?’

Now Jim understood. Without telling anyone, even Lily, he’d gone to the library and read up on tropical fevers back when they’d first had the news that Les had been in the isolation ward. Encephalitis was a swelling of the brain.

‘But you got the feeling back?’

‘Yes, thank God, bit by bit. And I’m better now.’

‘Are you? Really?’

‘Well …’ Les looked shifty. ‘I get the odd headache. My heart races a bit. But I’m properly on the mend.’

‘They still invalided you out.’

‘Yeah. And compared to some blokes, lost a leg, blinded, burns and what have you, I’m darn lucky. But the Army can’t have me driving or handling machinery, let alone a gun. They can’t take the risk, “in a theatre of war” was how they put it.’

‘No, I should think not.’

‘But I could kiss that mosquito!’ The mosquito being unavailable, Les kissed the baby’s head. ‘Giving me a free pass home!’

This was more like the old Les.

‘Well, maybe it’s for the best,’ Jim said thoughtfully. ‘At least Bobby’s going to grow up knowing his dad. There’s plenty of kids who won’t have that.’

They both looked down at the baby. At four months he hadn’t quite mastered getting his thumb into his mouth but was happily sucking his fist. Les stroked his silky hair in disbelief and wonder.

‘What was it like out there, Les? Really?’

Les puffed out a breath.

‘What can I say? Like everyone tells you: heat, dust, sand, flies, more sand, more heat … What they don’t tell you is wearing the same clothes for days, soaked in sweat, drinking water that tastes of petrol from a rusty can, lying in a scrape in the sand being strafed by the Jerries, seeing the truck ahead of you hit a mine … and the things you see … fellers blown apart, bits all over the place … digging them a grave …’

Gently, he touched Bobby’s head again.

‘But at the same time, the lads, we had such a laugh – you had to. And the guts of some of them – injured and carrying on, could have got a Blighty pass no trouble, but raring to get back to it – and that’s officers and men. And not just us Brits. Indians and Aussies and New Zealanders … they’ve fought like lions.’

Jim was silent. He’d tried to join up when he’d turned eighteen but had failed the eye test. He still felt guilty about it, despite the fact that he did his ARP duty three nights a week and took his turn fire-watching on the roof of Marlow’s.

‘They should have kept you on – recruiting officer!’

‘No thanks! But, look, Jim, I want to talk to you about that. What’s the chance of my old job back?’

Until he’d been called up, Les had worked as a delivery driver at Marlow’s. Beryl had worked there too. It was how they’d all met.

Jim had been waiting for the question and he knew the answer would disappoint. Les had never been replaced and the store was hardly going to create another driving job now, with petrol rationed even more strictly.

‘Les. Be realistic. You can’t go back to driving. The Army have got a point.’ Les opened his mouth to object, but Jim carried on. ‘No, listen. There is a job coming up. Not driving – it’s warehouseman-cum-porter. I know it’s a step down for you. It wouldn’t be quite as well-paid, and you’d still have to convince them you were fit enough … Would you be up for that?’

‘With a wife and kiddy to support?’ Les nearly bit off not just his hand, but his whole arm. ‘I’d be up for anything! And I’ll work on getting myself A1 fit. Get my chest-expander out!’

‘Don’t overdo it!’ warned Jim. ‘One step at a time. I’ll have a word with Staff Office and try and get you seen. I should think they’d be glad not to have to advertise, and wade through a load of useless applications.’

‘Thanks, Jim. I appreciate it.’

Lily, Gladys and Beryl trooped out now, Beryl saying they ought to get going and get Bobby to bed. She, Gladys and Les formed an admiring circle round the baby as Lily squeezed in next to Jim on the wall of the veg bed. He put his arm round her.

‘Still on for the cinema?’

‘You bet!’

They were going to see The Magnificent Ambersons. Lily had been all for seeing Mrs. Miniver again, which was still playing at the Gaumont, but they’d tossed a coin in the end and Jim had won. He was a big fan of Orson Welles. In truth, Lily didn’t much care what they saw. It would just be a treat to be on their own, walking to the cinema, arms entwined, and having a quick smooch before the picture started – being Jim’s girl.

When Lily had first shyly confessed to her friends that she and Jim had finally moved things on from being friends, Gladys had leapt ahead to suggest cosy double dates with herself and Bill, as Lily had known she would. Gladys and Bill were going to get married on his next leave, though when that would be, neither of them knew. Bill’s ship was on escort duty in the Northern Passage so it might not be till well into next year. If the war lasted that long, of course.

Before Gladys could get to double weddings, though, Lily had firmly had to tell her that she and Jim were happy to let things unfold slowly – very slowly.

‘We’re no age, Gladys,’ she’d protested. ‘I know you and Bill aren’t much older, but just because marriage and babies is right for you, it doesn’t mean it’s right for us. I mean, can you see me as a full-time wife and mother, honestly?’

It was generally agreed that Lily’s attempts at knitting would have been useful colanders; Dora despaired of her daughter’s anything-but-light touch with pastry.

Gladys had looked baffled by Lily’s reluctance to swoon at the whiff of orange blossom and the idea of a ring on her finger, but Beryl, forthright as always, had weighed in on Lily’s side.

‘Look,’ she reasoned. ‘We all know Lily and Jim are marked out for something a bit better than the shop floor at Marlow’s. It wouldn’t affect Jim, but Lily could kiss goodbye to any idea of promotion if she got married, let alone up the duff.’

‘Rubbish!’ Gladys defended herself. ‘There’s loads of married women working now, and ones with children. In Marlow’s and everywhere else.’

‘Only because the men are away fighting! When they come home, they’ll take back their jobs and shove us women straight back in the kitchen, you wait and see!’

Lily nodded, grateful for the support, but then Beryl wasn’t a full-time wife and mother herself. She couldn’t be called up for war work now she had the baby, and her old job in the Toy department at Marlow’s, even if she’d wanted it, had been filled by Gladys. So, starting in a small way with her own wedding and bridesmaids’ dresses, she’d set herself up in business hiring out bridal wear from home. Les’s picture of himself as the family’s sole breadwinner was a complete illusion: Beryl had a five-year plan for Beryl’s Brides that would have had Stalin stroking his moustache.

‘Did you get much out of Les?’ Lily asked Jim quietly now. The adoring acolytes weren’t listening, still worshipping the wonder child.

Jim kept his voice low, even so.

‘It may not be quite as bad as we thought. He had a horrible infection, but it sounds as if he’s going to be OK. Like he said, he just needs to build his strength up.’

‘Thank goodness for that. Did you tell him about the job?’

‘He jumped at it.’

‘Good.’

Lily sighed contentedly. The worry had mostly subsided; there was still the cinema to look forward to. After the long, dull morning, and the concern over Les, what a perfect end to the afternoon.

It was getting on for six by the time everyone had gone, the last of the crocks were put away and the banner could come down. Jim was shutting up the hens.

‘It hasn’t got Les’s name on it,’ Lily said as she folded the banner carefully. ‘We can use it for Reg.’

She really was starting to think, or at least hope, two things – first, that the war might be over soon, and second, that both her brothers might get through it unscathed.

Reg was a mechanic with the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, attached to the Eighth Army. General Montgomery was leading them now, experienced, energetic, determined: everyone was hoping against hope that he was the one who’d finally drive Rommel into the sea. Lily had an even better reason to hope for the safe return of her other brother, the middle one of Dora’s children. Sid had joined the Navy but an injury picked up in training meant he’d had to settle for a desk job. He was up in Scotland at a place called Largs, and though he wasn’t thrilled at being a penpusher instead of a fighting man, he’d had to acknowledge that it took away some of the worry back home.

Dora, though, wasn’t one to cross bridges or to count chickens: hope for the best but take what comes was nearer the mark for her. She changed the subject.

‘Hadn’t you better get a wriggle on if you two are going out?’

‘Yes! You’re right. We should.’

Dora smiled fondly at her daughter. She was thrilled that Lily and Jim were courting. They were always discreet about it in front of her, but no one could fail to notice the even readier smiles, the even more affectionate teasing, the sneaked glances, the surreptitious squeezes. Lily had always been bright and strong-minded; she needed someone like Jim to catch her, and then to match her. He might seem the quiet type but he was no pushover. He was quick and clever too – Lily needed that.

‘Off you go then. But see to your hair before you do!’

Lily’s blonde curls, as strong-minded as she was, had a tendency to resist arrest, and the fact that her few precious hairgrips had long since lost their grippiness didn’t help.

‘Beryl says I should get a permanent, now I’m a salesgirl proper, but I’m not sure … Jim?’ Lily broke off as Jim came in from the kitchen. He was ghost-white.

‘The bucket,’ he said blankly. ‘I was taking it to the pig bin and I met him in the street. The telegram boy.’

Oh no, not Reg! Please, not Reg! Not today – not any time, but especially not today!

Dora held out her hand for the telegram, but Jim shook his head.

‘It was for me,’ he said. ‘It’s my mother. She’s had a stroke.’