Polly's War Read online

  ‘You can go next year, perhaps by next summer, if the teacher will let you. You’ll be four and a half by then, love,’ she’d told him.

  ‘Dad’ll be home soon, won’t he?’

  ‘No, love. I don’t think so.’ In a little tantrum he’d picked the photo up from where it stood on the dresser and flung it to the stone floor where the glass had shattered into a dozen pieces. Sean was a child with a determined nature. Lucy tried to explain this to Michael one morning after he’d found her weeping as she swept the endless stairs in his aunt’s house.

  ‘I can’t bear to see you cry, Lucy.’ He laid a hand on her shoulder and something inside of her seemed to unfold at his touch, as if her body were reaching out to him.

  ‘It’s our Sean. I’m that worried about him.’

  ‘Don’t be, you’re a wonderful mother to him.’ And to her surprise he reached over and placed his lips very gently upon her cheek. It was nothing more than the sweetest breath of a kiss but it left her with a strange sensation of anticipation, not to mention a trembling breathlessness in the pit of her stomach. The next minute his mouth was seeking hers, then his arms were tight about her, holding her against him and offering her such wonderfully solid comfort and her heart was thumping like an express train.

  Afterwards, she swore to Polly that she hadn’t been distracted at all, that of course she’d been keeping a proper eye on Sean. He’d asked to go down into the front garden to play and she’d thought it perfectly safe, with the small green gate fast shut and the sneck tied up, since she was aware how resourceful he was. But while she stood in the dark intimacy of the stairs with Michael’s arms about her, out in the garden Sean dealt quite easily with the bit of string that held it fast and was soon marching smartly up Pansy Street straight as a soldier, just like Uncle Benny.

  He knew where the school was. Hadn’t he walked with Mam and Sarah Jane often enough? He turned the corner quickly and kept on marching, trying not to look at the round things at the crest of the hill that looked like bogeymen’s heads, but which Mam had once told him were chimney pots. He wasn’t sure he could believe her. Grown-ups didn’t always tell the truth. Mam had said his dad was coming home. Now he wasn’t.

  The school yard was empty when he arrived, which threw him for a minute. Then he realised that the children would be in their classrooms having lessons, and all he had to do was walk down the long corridor to find Sarah Jane’s room, and she’d tell him which was the right class for him. But first he had to cross this busy road.

  Lucy and Michael leapt apart when Minnie came to find her. Lucy began to sweep for all she was worth, brandishing the stiff hand brush with vigour while Michael attempted to adopt an air of casual interest. She wondered if her lipstick was smeared and that was why Minnie glared at her so fiercely.

  ‘Do you realise you left the front gate open? Anybody could have walked in, perfect strangers who might have murdered me in my bed, if I’d still been in it, that is.’

  Lucy stopped sweeping, a small cloud of dust settling upon her head as she froze and stared up at Minnie Hopkins. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said I could’ve been murdered ...’

  ‘No, no, about the gate.’

  ‘I’ve told you, it were wide open and ...’

  Lucy dropped the brush and scrambling to her feet almost fell down the stairs in her haste, heart racing. She saw the gate swinging open and stood transfixed before turning and flying back through the house, calling his name, ‘Sean. Are you there, Sean? Sean! Oh, my God, where is he?’

  Minnie, puffing down the stairs after her, caught some of Lucy’s alarm and her beady black eyes shot wide. ‘I never thought of t’lad. He’s probably hiding somewhere. Playing some sort of daft game.’ Michael dashed out to the back yard, flinging open the doors of various outhouses. None of them contained a small boy.

  Panicking quite out of control, Lucy couldn’t begin to think. ‘Oh please God, not the canal. He’s kept pestering me to take him fishing but I always put him off. What do I know about fishing?’

  ‘He can’t have got far,’ Michael said, trying to calm her but she was running now, and Minnie wasn’t far behind, her short legs having a hard time to keep pace. Michael caught her up easily. ‘I’ll search down by the wharfs and the canal.’

  While Minnie scoured the length of Pansy street from top to bottom, Lucy tackled the wasteland where the abandoned air-raid shelters were. It was just like Big Flo all over again, only this was a small boy who could wriggle his way into all sorts of tiny, fear-filled places. Heart in mouth, Lucy searched every place she could think of, yet could find no sign of him. She was considering calling the police when she suddenly saw Sarah Jane and her teacher walking down Duke Street beneath the railway bridge and clutching tightly to Sarah Jane’s hand was Sean, his tears making grubby tracks down his chubby face.

  ‘I didn’t know whether to hug him or smack him,’ Lucy told Michael that evening as she sat sipping a welcome sherry in the Dog and Duck on the corner of Pansy Street. He’d decided that she deserved one, for the shock. Polly had disapproved strongly of her going out, giving her a hard time and accusing Lucy of the kind of carelessness she’d expected only to find in Benny. Lucy couldn’t for the world have refused Michael’s invitation, even if it were only out of kindness. She had to see him, to be with him, however innocently. It made her feel good just to see him smiling at her.

  ‘I’ve no doubt you did both. Mothers usually do.’

  Still pale to the lips, Lucy sighed. ‘The teacher was very kind. She told him that if he was a good boy and didn’t run away again, she’d let him start half time in the nursery class next Easter, when he’s four. I could’ve kissed her.’

  ‘Some good came out of it then.’

  Her face clouded as she recalled the scene putting the small tearful boy to bed. ‘It still sounds a long time off to Sean. Trouble is, he won’t believe that Tom is dead. He can’t picture it, you see. Death I mean. He was so looking forward to having a dad.’

  Michael said nothing and a small silence fell between them. ‘He won’t be the only child without a dad, not these days. Or the only dad without a child for that matter.’

  ‘I know that but does he? He finds it hard to understand. He’s so very little.’

  ‘Perhaps the little boy is right and Tom isn’t dead. The telegram did say missing, presumed killed.’

  Lucy shook her head so vigorously the brown curls bounced. ‘I’m not going down that road. He’s dead. I’d know inside of me if he was still alive. Aunt Ida agrees, she thinks I should be wearing black, grieve for him properly and be miserable all the time.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’

  ‘She’s not one to cross isn’t Aunt Ida, for all she’s not really my aunt at all, besides …’ Lucy flushed and hid her embarrassment with a sip of sherry. ‘There are times when I find it hard to remember what Tom looked like. It’s so long since I saw him. Does that sound awful?’

  ‘No. We all suffer from that problem, it’s fairly normal. We don’t want to remember, that’s why. Memories bring fresh pain.’

  Lucy looked into his gaunt face but didn’t think this was so in her case yet she realised, for the first time, how little she knew about him. Unlike her, Michael Hopkins had not lived in this street all his life. He was a newcomer, having moved in shortly after he was invalided out of the RAF. ‘You sound as if you speak from experience. What sort of pain did this dreadful war bring you?’ She asked the question gently, but hastily added, ‘it’s all right if you don’t wish to speak of it.’

  He answered directly, without any prevarication. ‘It killed my wife. Blasted her and our small son out of existence.’

  ‘Oh, Michael,’ she breathed, and he told her in one further crisp sentence about the bomb that had flattened his house. She asked no further questions about the woman he had loved and lost, or of his beloved child. It seemed far too intrusive upon such a private man. Instead, she found herself saying, ‘enough o
f this gloom, the war’s over. This is supposed to be a new beginning. What about that day out you promised us? Is it still on?’

  ‘It certainly is. We could take young Sean on that fishing trip he’s so desperate for? Or maybe that trip to Belle Vue if the good weather holds. Please say yes. I want to see you smile again.’ For a long moment he looked into her eyes and Lucy did not flinch away. Then as if by some compulsion over which neither had any control they drew closer till they were a mere breath apart. This time when Michael placed his mouth against hers, capturing it completely, she instinctively opened her lips to his, ,just as if she longed for him to invade and explore her thoroughly.

  She only vaguely heard what he said after that, some details of tram times and picnic baskets, fishing rods and umbrellas. She was staring at him entranced, feeling bubbles of unexpected excitement starting up somewhere deep inside her. Feelings she’d never thought to experience again, the kind a woman with a missing husband had no right to be feeling. No right at all.

  Lucy, Michael and the children embarked from the tram at Belle Vue bursting with excitement. Sean had been sick before they’d even reached the end of Quay Street, filling Lucy with embarrassment, though why she really couldn’t imagine. Michael was charm itself, holding the little boy on his knee for the rest of the journey so he could see out of the window. He’d already taken him down to the canal and given him a short lesson on how to catch fish with a rod and a net, while giving stern lectures on how he mustn’t go anywhere near either the canal or the River Medlock by himself. Michael had also promised to teach the little boy how to swim and the two were now fast friends.

  So here they were, at Belle Vue.

  This was the place beloved by all Mancunians with its zoological gardens and amusement park, the dirt track racing, various exhibitions, dancing and even a circus at certain times of the year. Folk were attracted to its pleasures like bees round a honey pot.

  ‘Can I go on the caterpillar?’ Sean wanted to know, jumping up and down with excitement.

  ‘And be sick again, no fear,’ Lucy told him.

  ‘I want to go on an elephant,’ Sarah Jane put in.

  So many dangers. The thought of her children let loose amongst all these rides filled Lucy with terror but Michael swiftly put an end to her concerns. ‘They’ll be safe enough with me,’ he assured her and she cast him a shy glance of gratitude as they went through the turnstiles, for of course they would, in more ways than one. But then she had to strictly remind herself not to read too much into his kindness. It was one thing to spend time with this man as her employer, even out with him on a Saturday afternoon all dressed in their best, quite another to look upon him as anything more than that. Even so, she felt a bit sick with excitement herself, and wondered how they would get on.

  She needn’t have worried. The day was a great success.

  They giggled at the monkeys climbing all over their rocky mountain. Sean and Sarah Jane rode on the Bug and the Bobs and of course the miniature railway. They all went on the caterpillar and squealed when the green hood came over and made it all dark. Then it was time for the elephant ride. The elephants were famous at Belle Vue. There were three of them there today. Mary, Annie and of course Lil, the most famous of all. These were led by a dark-faced man in oriental robes who went by the even more exotic name of Fernandez. Perched high in a precarious swaying chair, the children squealed with delight. Lucy could hardly believe that outside of the turnstiles lay Gorton with its factories, rows of dark red brick houses, shops and pubs. Here, inside Belle Vue, was a magical kingdom, a wonderland of fun and entertainment.

  The elephant ride was so popular that Michael paid for the children to go again, which gave the two adults another few precious moments to themselves. And somehow this seemed to be particularly important, possibly because summer was almost over and this soft September day was an unexpected treat.

  ‘Are you happy now?’ he asked, brushing the words softly against her ear and she could hardly bear to look at him as she whispered her agreement, flushing like a schoolgirl.

  After the elephant rides came far more candy floss and vanilla ice cream than was good for them. Sean demanded to see the fireworks which he’d seen illustrated on a poster and Michael had to explain how they’d been cancelled because of the war. Both children groaned, Sarah Jane looking as if she was about to cry.

  ‘Why does the war spoil everything?’

  ‘Good question, but they’ll start again soon, when things get back to normal,’ Michael promised.

  ‘Can we come again?’ Sarah Jane asked and Michael smilingly agreed, glancing quickly across at Lucy

  ‘We’ll make that a date, eh?’

  ‘Yes!’ both children squealed so loud that Lucy decided it was time to take control.

  ‘How about something to eat. Fish and chips all round?’

  ‘Sausages, sausages,’ yelled Sean, jumping up and down so violently that Michael picked him up and swung him round in the air like an aeroplane, leaving the little boy gasping for breath and giggling so much Lucy had to calm him down all over again. She scolded Michael for encouraging him even while her eyes sparkled with laughter.

  ‘If you’re very good,’ Michael solemnly warned, wagging a calming finger in the children’s eager faces. ‘We’ll go and watch the dirt track racing after we’ve eaten.’

  Lucy gave a mock groan. ‘Now I’ll never have a moment’s peace whenever he goes out on his bike. He’ll think he’s a speedway star rider.’

  Both children did indeed love the race track on the corner of Hyde Road and Hunter’s Lane, the roar of the engines filling their ears as they watched in breathless excitement the bikes tearing around the track, frequently overtaking and sometimes slipping and sliding in a perilously dangerous manner. Michael told them about how he used to come often before the war to watch the riders, Frank Varey, known as the Red Devil, being a particular favourite on his Scott motorbike, and he tried to imitate the noise it made, making them all laugh.

  Later, while the children were more restfully building castles in the sand pit, the two adults took a breather by renting a couple of deck chairs to enjoy the last of the sunshine.

  ‘You look all flushed and sun-kissed,’ he said, and Lucy laughed.

  ‘I’ll be red as a turkey-cock tomorrow with my fair skin, but I don’t care. I’m having a lovely time.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ She opened her eyes to look at him and something shifted and lurched inside of her, as if her small world had turned upside down. ‘I am right about what passed between us the other day when I kissed you, aren’t I?’ he asked, very softly, and she could only manage a small nod.

  ‘Then I wouldn’t mind repeating it.’ When he leaned across the short gap between the deck chairs to pull her close with one arm, she did not resist, did not even glance in the children’s direction, hoping against hope they were happily playing with the sand. His mouth closed over hers and she gave herself up to the pleasure of it, soft and warm, smelling sweetly of sunshine and something indescribably masculine. It had been so long since she’d felt like this with a man, she could hardly believe it was happening. Then his warm breath was against her ear and he was kissing that too, murmuring her name against the pulse-beat in her throat, telling her how much he had longed to touch her in this way, and in other ways too. Pleasure soared through her, making her heart beat like a mad thing against her breast.

  ‘It must be a sin to feel this happy,’ she said, unable to tear herself from his hold.

  ‘Happiness is never a sin, but even if it was, I’d very much like to sin some more with you, Lucy.’

  ‘Me too.’ She gave him her lips again, shamelessly opening them, aching to be rid of the dratted chairs and savour the hardness of his body against hers. And why not? Her mind was telling her that Tom was dead, that they’d barely had any sort of marriage in any case because of the war, and now she was a widow and free to do as she pleased.

  ‘Mam, look at our sand castle. It’s g
ot two towers. Look!’

  The spell was broken. Riddled with guilt and confusion, Lucy rummaged in her bag for a comb and powder compact, trying to avoid his smiling eyes before admiring the children’s creative efforts.

  They had to be back at Lake Entrance Corner by six and it was a tired and happy little group that climbed back on to the homeward bound tram. Sarah Jane couldn’t stop chattering about the delights of the day, her one regret being that there hadn’t been time to try out the boating lake. Michael carried a sleepy Sean, still making vrrm-vrrm noises following the thrills of the speedway, aloft on his shoulder.

  The tram swung into view as it curved around the loop by Gorton Town Hall. Then while the driver walked through the tram, the trolley-boy used a long pole to reconnect the wire with the opposite end of the tram. Only then was everyone allowed on board and Lucy, Michael and the children collapsed on to a seat with a sigh of relief.

  ‘I’m worn out,’ Lucy complained, cheeks rosy with happiness.

  It had been a good day, and as Sarah Jane and Sean slept all the way home, it gave the two adults ample opportunity for some serious conversation, even to try out one or two more of those delightful kisses.

  Polly stared at her daughter as if she’d gone mad. ‘Marry Michael Hopkins? May the saints preserve us, are you not already married?’ She was sitting at the kitchen table, little piles of money set out before her on its scratched wooden surface, a task she did every week. One heap of coins was for the gas man, another for the coal, one for the rent, a few bob for the electricity meter and whatever was left would feed them. For all money wasn’t as tight as it had once been, she couldn’t get out of the habit of careful budgeting.