Читать книгу Rosie’s War - Kay Brellend - Страница 12

‘Insult my Irene again, you bitch, and I’ll wipe the floor with yer.’

Rosie spun about to see that Peg Price had sprinted down her front path to yell and jab a finger at her. The woman must have been loitering behind the curtains, waiting for her to return, Rosie realised. On the walk home her surprise meeting with Gertie, and everything they’d talked about, had been occupying her mind and she’d not given her run-in with her rotten neighbours another thought.

Rosie contemptuously flicked two fingers at the woman’s pinched expression before pushing the pram over the threshold and closing the door behind her.

A savoury aroma was wafting down the hall from the kitchen, making Rosie’s stomach grumble.

‘That you, Rosie?’

‘Yeah. Sorry I’m late.’ Rosie carried on unfastening Hope’s reins, thinking her father had sounded odd. But she gave his mood little thought; she was too wrapped up in counting her blessings. And she was determined to work for the London Auxiliary Ambulance Service. If she got turned down, as Gertie had, she’d try again and again until she was accepted.

Rosie cast her mind back to the time when the female ambulance auxiliary had entered their bombed-out house and with a simple joke made her laugh, then tended to her father with brisk professionalism. Rosie had been impressed by the service, and the people in it. But her baby daughter had taken up all her time and energy then. Now Hope was older, toddling and talking, and Rosie had the time to be useful. She wanted her daughter to grow up in peacetime with plentiful food to eat and a bright future in front of her. Wishing for victory wasn’t enough; she needed to pitch in and help bring it about, as other mothers had throughout the long years of the conflict.

From the moment Gertie had recounted how the ambulance crew had battled to save her baby’s life, Rosie knew that’s what she wanted to do … just in case at some time the baby dug from beneath bomb rubble was her own.

John appeared in the parlour doorway wiping his floury hands on a tea towel.

Lifting her daughter out of the pram, Rosie set Hope on her feet. The child toddled a few steps to be swept up into her granddad’s arms.

‘How’s my princess?’ John planted a kiss on the infant’s soft warm cheek.

In answer Hope thrust her lower lip and nodded her fair head.

‘See what Granddad’s got in the biscuit tin, shall we, darlin’?’

Again Hope nodded solemnly.

‘Don’t feed her up or she won’t eat her tea,’ Rosie mildly protested, straightening the pram cover. She watched her father slowly hobbling away from her with Hope in his arms. Lots of times she’d been tempted to tell him not to carry her daughter in case he overbalanced and dropped her. But she never did. Hope was her father’s pride and joy, and his salvation.

In the aftermath of the bombing raid, it had seemed that John’s badly injured leg might have to be amputated. Sunk in self-pity, he’d talked of wanting to end it all, until his little granddaughter had been taken to see him in hospital and had given him a gummy smile. At the time, Rosie had felt pity and exasperation for her father. In one breath she’d comforted him and in the next she’d reminded him he was luckier than those young servicemen who would never return home.

John carefully set Hope down by her toy box and started stacking washing-up in the bowl.

‘You stewing on something, Dad?’ Rosie asked. Her father was frowning into the sink and he would usually have made more of a fuss of Hope than that.

‘Nah, just me leg giving me gyp, love.’ John turned round, smiling. ‘Talking of stew, that’s what we’ve got. Not a lot in it other than some boiled bacon scraps and veg from the garden but I’ve made a few dumplings to fill us up.’

‘Smells good, Dad,’ Rosie praised. ‘Sorry I didn’t get home in time to give you a hand. We had a nice walk, though.’

‘’S’all right, love. Enjoy yerself?’ John enquired, running a spoon, sticky with suet, under the tap. ‘Anyhow, you can help now you’re back. There’s a few spuds in the colander under the sink. Peel ’em, will you?’

Having filled a pot with water, Rosie sat down at the scrubbed parlour table and began preparing potatoes while filling her dad in on where she’d been. ‘First I went to the chemist and got your Beecham’s Powders.’ She pulled a small box from the pocket of her cardigan and put it on the table. Her dad relied on them for every ailment. ‘Then I took a walk to Cheapside and bumped into an old friend from the Windmill Theatre—’

‘You’re not going back there to work!’ John interrupted. ‘If you want a job you can get yourself a respectable one now you’re a mother.’ He had spun round at the sink and cantankerously crossed his wet forearms over his chest.

‘I don’t even want to go back there to work, Dad,’ Rosie protested. ‘Gertie doesn’t work there now either. She’s got a little girl a bit older than Hope. The two kids had a go at having a chat.’ Rosie smiled fondly at her daughter. ‘Made a friend, didn’t you, darling?’

‘Gertie? Don’t recall that name,’ John muttered, and turned back to the washing-up.

Rosie frowned at his back, wondering what had got his goat while she’d been out. But she decided not to ask because she’d yet to break the news to him about the employment she was after and she wasn’t sure how he’d take it.

‘Gertie was one of the theatre’s cleaners. She left the Windmill months before me.’

‘Mmm … well, that’s all right then,’ John mumbled, flicking suds from his hands. He felt rather ashamed that Popeye’s visit had left him on edge, making him snappy.

‘I am getting a job, though, Dad.’

‘Ain’t the work I’m objecting to, just the nature of it,’ John muttered.

‘You didn’t mind the money I earned at the Windmill Theatre, though, did you?’ Rosie reminded him drily, dropping potatoes in the pot.

‘If you’d not been working at that place you’d never have got in with a bad crowd and got yourself in trouble,’ John bawled. He pursed his lips in regret; the last thing he wanted to do was overreact and arouse his daughter’s suspicions that something was wrong.

‘I got into trouble because of the company you kept, not the company I kept,’ Rosie stormed before she could stop herself. It was infuriating that her father still tried to ease his conscience by finding scapegoats. In Rosie’s opinion it was time to leave the horrible episode behind now. They both adored Hope so something good had come out of bad in the end.

The slamming of the front door had John turning, tight-lipped, back to the sink and Rosie lighting the gas under the potatoes.

‘What’s going on?’ Sensing an atmosphere, Doris looked suspiciously from father to daughter.

‘I was just telling Dad that I saw an old friend from the Windmill Theatre. The poor woman has had dreadful bad luck. A couple of years ago their house got hit and she lost three of her young sons.’

Doris crossed herself, muttering a prayer beneath her breath. ‘She was lucky to get out herself then.’

‘She was very lucky, and so was her husband and eldest boy,’ Rosie said after a pause. She knew Doris could act pious, so she wasn’t going to mention that the three children had died alone. Her stepmother would have something to say about neglect despite the fact that her own daughter-in-law and grandson rarely came to visit her because they were never invited.

‘Didn’t realise it was bad news you got from your friend,’ John said gruffly by way of apology. That terrible tale had momentarily edged his own worries from his mind.

Doris’s sympathy was short-lived, however, and she was quick to change the subject. ‘Just got caught outside by Peg Price; sounding off about you, she was.’ Doris wagged an accusing finger.

Rosie shrugged, refusing to take the bait. Doris would always make it plain she felt burdened by the duty of sticking up for her.

‘Saw somebody else with a long face.’ Doris gazed at her reflection in the mantel mirror and started pushing the waves back in place in her faded brown hair. ‘Nurse Johnson was in civvies down Petticoat Lane.’ Doris looked at the little girl crouching on the floor. ‘You’d think she’d pop in once in a while to see how Hope’s getting on.’

‘I expect she’s too busy,’ Rosie said succinctly. Doris enjoyed bringing to her attention that she’d caused enmity on several fronts.

Rosie hadn’t spoken to her midwife since the day she’d broken the news about withdrawing from the adoption. At the time Rosie had thought that the woman seemed to take it quite well. Trudy had listened to her explanation, then said the sort of things that Rosie had been expecting to hear about being surprised and disappointed. Ever since, if they met out walking a brief nod was the most Rosie got from the woman. Rosie couldn’t blame Trudy Johnson if she had felt bitter about what had happened.

‘Going upstairs to put a brush through me hair before we have tea.’

Once his wife had gone out of the room John said, ‘Didn’t mean to snap earlier, Rosie; just that I worry about you, y’know, grown up though you are.’ He pulled out a chair at the table and sank onto the seat. ‘God knows we’ve had to cope with some troubles these past few years.’

‘Not as much as some people, Dad,’ Rosie said pointedly, to remind him of Gertie’s catastrophe.

‘I know … I know … but you’re still my little girl, however old you are. And I won’t never stop worrying about you and Hope s’long as I’m drawing breath.’

‘You’ve no need to worry, Dad, I’m able to look after myself and Hope now.’ After a short silence Rosie saw her father seemed to have gone into a trance, staring into space. ‘What is it, Dad?’ She sat down opposite him and rested her elbows on the tabletop. ‘You seem odd … thoughtful. Something up?’

‘Nah, just this leg getting me down,’ John lied. He forced a smile. ‘Wish you could meet a nice young man, dear.’ He took Rosie’s hands in his. ‘You need somebody to care for you, ’cos I ain’t always going to be around. Robbie likes you, y’know, and he’s not short of a bob or two … or a couple of pork chops.’

Rosie tutted in mock exasperation at her father’s quip. Robbie Raynham was the local butcher, and at least fifteen years her senior. He was pleasant enough and not bad-looking but Rosie didn’t like him in that way. She didn’t like any man in that way. Rosie knew Doris often sent her to get their meat ration in the hope the smitten butcher might slip a little bit extra in for them in return for the promise of a date.

But Rosie didn’t have any interest in marriage or men. Since she’d been dragged into an alleyway then thrown to the ground and raped, a cold dread had replaced any longing she’d once had for an exciting romance and a husband. Love and affection were saved for her daughter; all she wanted to do was keep Hope safe and make plans for her future.

Rosie took a deep breath and blurted, ‘I’m going to apply to join the London Auxiliary Ambulance Service.’

John gawped at his daughter as though she were mad. ‘Why?’ he eventually asked.

‘Because it’s an important job needs doing.’

‘Being a mother to that little girl’s an important job needs doing,’ John replied pithily. ‘Ambulance work’s too dangerous. You’ll be covered in blood and muck.’

‘I was covered in blood and muck when the Café de Paris got bombed and again on the afternoon our house was wrecked. I’m used to it now.’

John had the grace to blush as he recalled how she’d nursed him and dressed his wounds till they could get help on that dreadful afternoon.

‘Dad, d’you remember how that auxiliary helped you that day?’

‘’Course …’ John muttered. ‘And I was grateful to her, but that don’t mean I want you taking them sort of risks.’ He pointed a finger. ‘She were a lot older than you, for a start …’

‘Her colleague who helped you up the stairs wasn’t. And she was driving the ambulance, if you remember. She looked to be in her twenties, like me …’

‘Don’t want you doing it, Rosie …’ John began shirtily.

‘I’m going to apply,’ Rosie said firmly. ‘Hope’ll be fine in a nursery. I’m going to the WVS tomorrow to see if they can sort out a place for her.’

‘If you’re determined, me ’n’ Doris can see to the little ’un between us.’ John sounded affronted.

‘I’d like her to make some more friends,’ Rosie answered diplomatically. ‘She had a lovely time playing with Gertie’s little girl.’

‘Time enough fer that when she’s older. I’ll mind her.’ John sounded stubborn. He’d always been very protective of his granddaughter but suddenly after Popeye’s visit it seemed more important than ever to keep a close watch on Hope.

‘It’s time for me to get my own place, too, Dad. Now you and Doris are married you deserve some privacy. Besides, I need to learn to stand on my own two feet. So as soon as I’m earning I’ll be able to pay rent.’ Rosie had been planning on saving that blow for another day. But as her father had seemed to accept her work, albeit reluctantly, she had decided that ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ might be the best approach.

‘Leaving home and standing on your own two feet backfired on you once before.’ John pressed his lips into a thin line. He’d not wanted to hark back to that episode. ‘Anyhow, people my age don’t need a lot of fuss. Ain’t as if me and Doris are starry-eyed. Known each other too long for any of that.’ John coughed, recalling Popeye’s dirty talk.

‘Still, it’d be nice for you both to have some peace and quiet.’ Rosie understood her father’s unease about discussing intimate things.

‘I know kids have tantrums, so that don’t bother me one bit. I brought you up, remember,’ he added darkly.

Rosie smiled faintly. Her stepmother wasn’t happy about losing her sleep. The woman had let Rosie know she’d been kept awake by Hope crying as she’d barged out of the bathroom that morning.

Suddenly Rosie was missing her mum with such strong sadness that she felt momentarily unable to speak. Prudence Gardiner had passed away when she was in junior school but Rosie could recall her vividly. She could also remember that her mother’s affair hadn’t lasted, but the bitterness between John and Prudence had. He’d taken her back … for the girl’s sake … the words stuck in Rosie’s mind as the reason he’d bawled at his wife when she’d shown up again, suitcase in hand. Rosie knew that Prudence would have adored her beautiful granddaughter. Had her mother still been alive perhaps Hope might have succeeded in doing what Rosie had yearned to do but had failed at: bring her parents some shared happiness.

She glanced at her father’s lined face, feeling a rush of pity that his second wife was unlikely to bring him any more contentment than his first had. ‘I’m grateful that you’ve taken care of me and Hope till now. But I’ll cope on my own, Dad.’

‘You won’t!’ John’s anxiety had manifested itself in anger. ‘You’re staying right here where I can keep an eye on you both.’

‘Might be that yer daughter’s got a point about being independent and paying her own way,’ Doris said, entering the kitchen. ‘And as your wife, you might like to ask me my opinion on things that concern me.’

Rosie knew that Doris was thoroughly in favour of her moving out, and the sooner the better.

‘Stew’s done.’ John turned his back on his wife, stooping to open the oven door. With a teacloth protecting his hands he drew out a sizzling-hot clay pot.

‘That’s yer answer, is it?’ Doris snorted in disgust. ‘Dinner’s ready!’

‘Let’s eat, then talk about it later.’ Rosie gave her stepmother a smile, signalling a truce. It seemed there was something eating away at her father and she’d no idea what it might be. But she was quite sure it had little to do with her wanting a job and some independence.