Reading between the lines of the news reports, it was hard to get a handle on the real story. The paper was full of the victories of Fighter Command, but Pop said that the papers weren’t allowed to be honest about the real losses as it would be bad for morale. But there was no doubt that the RAF had carried out a heroic defence of the country and that ordinary people had so much to be thankful for. It was far from over, however. Day after day, the Luftwaffe continued their deadly assaults on the larger cities all over the country. There was no hiding the reality of the destructive power of the German air raids. Fighter Command were under extreme pressure, the newspaper said.
‘Don’t we know it,’ Rita said aloud, aware that people in this part of the country were as much in the front line as the soldiers and the fighter pilots. It was not just the men like Eddy that risked their lives, but also those who loaded and unloaded the ships that ferried the necessities of war and civilian life. They too were the target of the Luftwaffe.
Rita now knew the truth of the rumour that a young German pilot had been brought in injured. She pushed down the hope that he was suffering as much as Frank, whose leg had had to be amputated below the knee after infection had set in. She also tried to rid her mind of the fact that the German may know others who would try to blow up the supply ship on which Eddy served, and which had to run the gauntlet of torpedoes and mines every single day. Yes, she was ashamed of feeling that way; it was unchristian as well as cruel. But when she thought again of Bert’s lifeless body, she couldn’t help herself.
‘Mammy!’ Michael and Megan shot up from the breakfast table to greet their mother, and Rita’s heart sang with joy and relief.
‘Oh, thank God you are safe!’ She scooped her children into her arms, thankful beyond words that they were unharmed.
‘Mammy, we could hear the German planes dropping their bombs. It was so exciting – can I go out and look at the flattened houses?’ Rita looked in amazement at Michael. His eyes were shining with excitement and for a moment she could almost feel what it must be like to be a seven-year-old boy living through these interesting times. But then her anxiety kicked in again and she prayed that she would not have to go through another night of worry as she had last night, knowing there was little she could do about it now the hospital needed her. But her children needed her too. How many other women were feeling like she did this morning, she wondered, torn between her nursing duty and a mother’s fear? Rita felt absolutely wretched at the thought of another night away from them.
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she admonished gently, ruffling her son’s hair as he chattered away nineteen to the dozen. Rita felt a little hand squeeze her own and looked down to see the pale face of Megan. Unlike Michael, she was quiet and clingy. Rita hugged Megan to her and felt her heart wrench at how frightened the little girl must have been without her.
‘Small thanks to you, they are fine.’
Charlie’s barbed words caused that familiar feeling of guilt to rise up in Rita’s heart as he entered the small breakfast room, his mother – making a great play of her bad leg – following behind. Rita looked at him. He was lean and once upon a time she had thought him handsome, but now his hair was thinning and his face always bore a sneer, or his words a put-down. Sometimes she could barely bring herself to look at him. Now his icy glare seized her and held her in its grasp. Rita knew that trouble had been brewing and she steeled herself for his onslaught.
‘What kind of a mother leaves her children during an air raid?’ Charlie’s voice was laced with malice as he addressed his mother, who nodded in agreement.
Ma Kennedy had assumed her usual seat by the window. She was wearing her housecoat and had her hair in curlers, covered by a headscarf. Her face wore the sour look of disapproval that Rita had come to know so well.
‘I know Charles, it is unforgivable! You have an obligation to your family, Rita!’ Mrs Kennedy’s mouth puckered and her condescending expression told Rita she thought she wasn’t much of a mother if she could not be here for her own children during an air raid.
Rita felt that she had little room for manoeuvre when they ganged up on her like this. These days she usually put up a strong resistance, but her own guilt and anxiety were threatening to gang up on her too. She felt weak, tired and unable to defend herself. She should have been here. Of course, she should.
‘You both know that hospitals all over the land are in dire need of trained staff. People like me are in short supply,’ she countered weakly.
‘People like you?’ Charlie sneered. ‘Listen to Rita, Mother! Looks like she’s going to save the country single-handed. Shame she doesn’t feel as strongly about her own kids.’
Rita felt her stomach dip.
‘You’ll have to tell her, Charles.’ His mother was standing now, poker stiff at the side of the table while Rita, feeling as bad as it was possible for a mother to feel, none the less did not fail to notice the sidelong, warning glance Charlie gave his mother.
‘Mind your own business, can’t you?’ His tone now turned to impatience as he barked at the children, ‘Michael, take Megan through next door to the lounge and put the wireless on.’
The children both looked at Rita uncertainly, but she nodded for them to go. It wouldn’t do for them to get caught up in a row.
‘Tell me what?’ Rita’s throat tightened and she found it difficult to swallow, her mouth now paper dry with trepidation.
‘The children are being evacuated today – this morning,’ Charlie said without preamble. ‘It’s all arranged – and don’t even think about trying to stop it.’ He did not hang around long enough for Rita to answer but stalked from the room. She could hear him taking the stairs two at a time.
Rita was confused. What did he mean, they were going to be evacuated today? Where to? They’d been back home for only a few months. She scraped back the chair and stood up, but before she left the room she laid her hands flat upon the table and leaned towards Mrs Kennedy.
‘Did you know about this?’ She knew her husband couldn’t organise the children’s evacuation on his own. He would not have the foggiest idea where to start.
Ma Kennedy folded her arms and looked away. ‘I’m saying nothing,’ was all she offered.
Rita pushed down her anger at her mother-in-law and headed for the stairs at a run. She opened Megan’s bedroom door to find Charlie there, and her heart lurched. There were two suitcases on the bed, one for each of her children, and he was folding Megan’s clothes into hers.
‘Are you sending them back to Freshfield Farm?’ It had been so harrowing when they were evacuated last time, billeted on a farm way outside the city. The people that had looked after the children were decent folk and the children were happy. Rita knew that they had been well looked after. If they had to go away again, it would break her heart, but she also knew that the children were no longer safe. Charlie was right.
‘No. I’ve made other arrangements.’
Cold fear ran through Rita’s veins as she heard these words and her voice shook. ‘What other arrangements? What do you mean? Tell me!’
‘Get a grip of yourself, woman.’ Charlie’s voice was full of scorn. ‘I’ve got a place lined up …’
‘Where?’ Rita asked.
At