‘Kiddies!’ Esme was on red alert now.
Ivy shot back through the hall like a bullet out of a gun, speechless, her mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish gasping for air. ‘Levi! You’d better get out there. Call the police! There’s two foreigners with screaming kids in our van. We can’t have them in here. What will the neighbours think? And one of them’s…Chinese,’ she mouthed in a whisper. ‘I’m taking Neville upstairs. We don’t want any part of this. Wait till I get my hands on that brother of yours,’ she screamed, storming up the Axminster stairs two at a time.
Esme, winded by the news, sat down in a heap. Ivy had no tea strainer between her brain and her mouth, Lily sighed. Freddie couldn’t help them now. She stood in the hall, not knowing which way to turn. ‘At least they do speak English of sorts, one better than the other,’ she offered. ‘Poor souls had no idea about each other. Both sat there waiting for the same soldier to pick them up. You could cut the ice in the back of the van. What was I to do? I couldn’t leave them, not with little kiddies in the middle of winter.’
‘Levi, come up here. We’re keeping out of this mess!’ shouted Ivy from the top of the landing.
‘You’d better calm your wife down.’ Esme took a deep breath and rose again, her chest heaving under the gold link chain she wore when expecting company. ‘I suppose I’ll have to deal with this mess myself.’
‘Perhaps I should get Walter over to help us,’ Lily offered, feeling in need of some support.
‘Whatever for? He’d be neither use nor ornament, Lil. Leave him be.’
There was nothing to do but follow Mother down those steps, throwing prayers to the Almighty, hoping for once that she would find the right words to calm the frightened passengers and not have them running through the dark streets in fear of her fury, Lily thought. Better to push in front and get the first word in herself.
‘This is Freddie’s mother, Mrs Winstanley. She wants to speak to you,’ Lily mouthed as if to a child. ‘We have tea for you inside and milk for the little ones, yes?’
The two girls looked at each other and then at the grey-haired matron who hovered over them, gold chains clanking above a smart grey two-piece jersey suit.
At least her face softened at the sight of these waifs and strays taking the sting out of her bite momentarily.
‘Come in, ladies. We must talk to you and outside is not the place. There’s obviously been some terrible mistake.’ Esme pointed the way, looking up and down the street to see if there was an audience.
Were the curtains twitching across at number nineteen? Doris Pickvance, the local ‘News of the World’ was going to get an eyeful if she spotted the little procession of refugees, babies and baggage squeezing out of the black van. It would be all down Division Street by chucking-out time at the Coach and Horses that the Winstanleys were opening a hostel for displaced persons.
Slowly the girls edged themselves out of the back, crumpled and forlorn, unravelling their clinging toddlers. Lily picked up a fallen doll as they made their way up the steps.
‘Where is my Stan? Why is he not here to greet me? I wrote him many letters. What is wrong?’ Susan was clutching her struggling child, who was draped over her shoulder, her eyes on stalks as faces peered down the stairwell.
‘Come inside and sit down,’ said Esme in a soft voice, moved by the plight of these orphans of the night.
They sat down shyly, not looking at each other.
‘Lil will get you a drink.’
‘No, thank you,’ replied the Burmese woman, sitting upright like a ramrod. ‘Please, where is Stan? I wrote and he said I should write to you. No one came to the ship to meet me.’
‘You are Miss Brown still, or did my son make you his bride before he left?’ Mother was looking down at her ringless finger. Lily didn’t know where to look so she bowed her head.
‘It was our wish to marry but the Army, it said there was no rush to “marry foreign”. I told them straight, no beating bushes, Mister Stan made promises and he gave me a gift.’ She unlaced her shoe and fiddled in the toe, bringing out a pair of solid gold earrings studded with bright rubies. ‘I kept them safe with our precious baby.’
‘That’s as may be, Miss Brown.’ Esme glanced briefly at the jewels, trying to look unimpressed by the size and depth of their colour. Then it was the other girl’s turn for a grilling.
‘We don’t even know your name…Miss…? We had no letter from my son to say you were coming.’ There was the sharp edge back again.
The Greek girl shuffled in her bag for papers. ‘I am Anastasia Papadaki,’ she said. ‘Freddie gave this address to write him. It is lucky I arrive the same day as this woman.’ Her eyes were flashing like steel daggers at Susan.
‘Are you engaged to my son? Have you got a ring in your shoe?’
Anastasia shook her head. ‘He was good soldier. I have terrible time but I help Tommy soldiers get out of Kriti island. We meet in Athens at the end of war. He bring me food. He give me your name to come to England. I come to find him and show him Konstandina. See…’ She whipped off the little pixie hood to reveal a head full of sandy-red curls. There was no mistaking those curls or the sea-blue eyes and long lashes. She was the image of Freddie.
‘How do I know you’re telling us the truth?’ said Esme, standing firm. ‘Neither of you has any proof.’ She was weighing them up while Lily passed round the silver tray of biscuits laid in a cartwheel of pink wafers and bourbon creams, the last of their rations for the month, hidden in an old tin from Ivy and Neville. Suddenly the toddler was alert, curious, stretching out fingers to snatch a treat, but Susan shook her bowed head.
‘Just look at that child, Mother. She’s the spit of Freddie,’ Lily hissed. ‘I think we should tell them the truth and get the others down.’ Lily drew in a deep breath and swallowed. ‘There is no easy way to say this—’ she ventured, looking at the two women.
‘No, this is my duty as head of this family. I’ll do it,’ Esme interrupted. She drew herself up and turned to them both. ‘I’m afraid my son, Freddie’s, had an accident. He is…was in Palestine on duty. There was an explosion. I am so sorry but he did not survive. He will never be coming home now.’
There was silence as the words sunk in.
Anastasia crossed herself and Susan shook her head. ‘I saw the black scarf on your arm. I think something bad is going to happen. Black is for sorrow and sorrow is etched on Daw Winstanley’s face.’ The Burmese girl spoke softly, bowing her head.
‘What we do now?’ sobbed Anastasia.
‘Make a cup of sweet tea, Lil,’ ordered Esme.
‘Poor Mister Stan. Poor Susan Liat with no Stan to welcome me. No home, no village, no grass roof house and roses by the door, no sitting in the cool of the evening while Stan smokes his pipe. Do you know how many gold bracelets Auntie Betty sold to buy our ticket? The journey was so long and the war so terrible. I walked through the jungle from the Japanese. Many died. Mister Stan says he loves me and will send for me one day. What do we do now, Daw Winstanley? I am not going back.’
Susan sat there weeping, and Joy touched her tears with her podgy fingers, unaware all their plans were in ruins.
Then Levi slithered into the room like a snake coiling his way round the furniture, followed by Ivy with her pinched cheeks and puckered lips, smelling of setting lotion and pre-war perfume. They were curious enough now not to want to miss out on the story unfolding. Ivy sniffed a quick glance at the two women as if they were a bad smell.
‘Whatever they have to say, Mother, better be said in front of both of us,’ she snapped, pointing at them.
Lily sometimes wondered about Levi and Ivy’s