Queenie

‘Erm, no. Why?’

Mary’s heart lurched. Surely the poor girl wasn’t pregnant? Hadn’t she been through enough already? ‘May the cat eat that dirty bastard and may the devil eat the cat,’ she hissed.

Queenie was terrified when Mary insisted she must visit Dr Parrott the following day. ‘If I’m pregnant by that monster, Mary, I’ll kill myself.’

Mary held the child in her arms. ‘No, you won’t. You’re stronger than that, my love. Having felt your tummy yesterday, I honestly don’t think you’re with child. But we need to get you checked out, and to make sure you haven’t been infected with any diseases. Dr Parrott is from Cork, same as me; he can be trusted. He’s a family friend and a very nice man. You let me do the talking, OK?’

‘I haven’t got to take my knickers off, have I?’ Queenie asked fearfully.

‘I’ll be with you all the time, I promise. The doctor will examine your stomach and I’ve already got your wee sample in my handbag. He might want to ask a couple of questions, but I’ve pretended a young lad took advantage of you.’

‘Thanks for not telling him what really happened.’

Mary smiled. ‘Whatever you tell me is between us, OK?’ That wasn’t strictly true because last night she’d given the heads up to her sons regarding the awful experience Queenie had been through. She hadn’t gone into too much detail but, as expected, Patrick and Daniel were absolutely livid.

‘You leave that nonce to us, Mum. We’ll sort it,’ Patrick promised.

‘Too fecking right,’ Daniel added. ‘Poor little Queenie.’

And Mrs O’Leary knew that at least Queenie would never have to come face to face with the pervert who’d ruined her ever again.

The trip to Dr Parrott’s was scary for Queenie. Mary held her hand as he examined her stomach with his hands and a stethoscope. ‘I’m pretty sure you aren’t pregnant, young lady. But we’ll do the urine test just to be on the safe side.’

Urging Queenie to sit up, Dr Parrott then asked her some embarrassing questions. ‘Have you had any discharge or pain down below, Queenie? Anything unusual since you had sex?’

Wanting to scream out that she didn’t have sex, she was raped, Queenie bit her tongue and turned to Mary. ‘What does discharge mean?’

‘A substance. The doctor means have you noticed anything unusual in your knickers?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like a green substance or brown? Or have you noticed any change in the colour of your urine? Does it hurt when you use the toilet?’ asked the doctor.

Queenie blushed crimson. ‘No. Nothing.’

Dr Parrott smiled. ‘That’s good news. If anything changes though and you do start noticing something different, you must come back to me. In the meantime, I’ll do your urine test and will let Mary know when I have the results.’

Queenie breathed a sigh of relief as they left Dr Parrott’s house. ‘Mary, how can a doctor tell by your wee if you’re pregnant?’

‘They inject your urine into toads.’

‘Toads! What, as in like a frog?’

‘Yes. They import a special breed from abroad and keep them in tanks.’

Completely baffled, Queenie said no more.

The school holidays began and instead of going out exploring the bomb sites with Viv or playing silly games, Queenie spent most of her time with Mrs O’Leary or Aunt Edna. She much preferred being at their homes to staying in her own. She no longer felt close to her mother. Her dad was making all their lives a misery and in Queenie’s opinion Molly Wade should be putting her foot down.

On the Tuesday, Viv squealed with delight as their neighbours Aggie and Nelly Brown arrived home from evacuation. ‘Come on, Queenie. Let’s go and greet them.’

Pleased that Viv would now have Nelly to hang out with, Queenie told Viv to greet them with their mum. She hadn’t forgiven Aggie for blanking the two letters she’d written to her. Who did she think she was? She was no friend of hers any longer, the ignorant cow. Queenie had only written the second letter because, when she’d received no reply to the first, she assumed it must have got lost in the post. Queenie cursed herself. ‘What an idiot,’ she muttered.

Peeping through a tiny gap in the curtain, Queenie saw their landlord approach her mum. He looked annoyed and started pointing towards the roof of the house.

Viv ran back inside the house. ‘Aggie says hello. Where’s mum’s purse, Queen?’

‘Dunno. What’s the landlord saying?’

‘Dunno. Probably wants money.’ Viv ran back outside with the purse.

Since their dad’s army wage had stopped, their mum had been forced to take two cleaning jobs, just so they could eat and keep a roof over their heads. It was she who was handing all her hard-earned wages over to the landlord while her father drank any wages he earned down the pub. Queenie didn’t know if her dad even had a proper job. The docks had been bombed badly during the Blitz and with his shattered right leg, that he now dragged behind him, she was sure he wasn’t working back there, though her mum swore he was.

A serious expression on her face, Molly walked back inside the house and asked both her daughters to sit down.

‘What’s up?’ Queenie asked.

Molly sighed. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, girls. Our landlord has insisted on renting the upstairs of our house out. There’ll be a new family moving in next Monday.’

‘But he can’t! What about our bedroom? Where we meant to sleep?’ shrieked Viv.

‘We’ll have to bring your mattress down ’ere, love. We’ll manage. I suppose we should think ourselves lucky to have a bloody roof over our heads. Many families round ’ere haven’t, have they?’

Viv was distraught. ‘But what about our clothes and things? Where will we put those?’

‘We’ll find somewhere to put them,’ replied Molly. ‘Let’s just be grateful Hitler has stopped bombing us. Well, for now, at least.’

Queenie was furious. ‘But why are we losing the upstairs of our house? I take it it’s because we’re way behind with the rent?’

‘Well, yes,’ admitted Molly. ‘But nobody is to blame for that, Queenie. Who could have predicted the war and your father being shot?’

‘No one. But seeing as Dad is working at the docks and you’re also working, how come we can’t afford to pay the rent?’

Molly looked sheepish. ‘Your dad could no longer work at the docks because of his leg. I didn’t tell you ’cause I didn’t want to worry ya. He is working though. He’s helping a friend out, but the money isn’t great.’

‘Well, it can’t be that bad,’ yelled Queenie. ‘He seems to be earning enough to roll home pissed out of his head every night, don’t he?’

Tears streamed down Viv’s face. She loved sharing a bedroom with her sister. It was bad enough listening to her parents’ arguments and baby-making as it was; now she and Queenie would have to sleep in the same room as them.

‘Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But you mustn’t blame your father. He’s going through a tough time. He saw some terrible things while he was away, has awful nightmares. He isn’t coping with his injury either. He’s in a lot of pain with his leg and says the alcohol helps him cope with it. We must all stand by him; help him through this difficult time.’

Queenie could barely believe her ears. She leapt off the sofa and paced up and down. ‘And we had it easy while Dad was away, did we?’ she bellowed. ‘How do you think me and Viv felt, being sent away, then coming home to a long list of friends and neighbours who’d died? As for losing half our home, I blame you as much as him, Mum. Why didn’t you put your foot down and demand Dad hands over the rent money to you? That’s what Mrs O’Leary would’ve done. She would’ve kicked Dad’s arse out and only allowed him back once he’d got himself sorted.’

‘Well, I’m not Mrs O’Leary and you shouldn’t be discussing our bloody business with that woman,’ fumed Molly.

‘Who said I was? Everyone knows what’s really going on, including me and Viv. We’re the ones who have to listen to Dad beat and rape you most nights. No wonder we’re always tired at school, eh? And now you’re expecting us to sleep in the same room as you and him.’

‘Whatever are you going on about, you stupid girl? I’m married to the man. Ya can’t get raped by your own husband. This is her, ain’t it? That nosy cow across the road. She’s the one putting ridiculous ideas in your head. You’re even copying her foul language. Always effing and blinding, she is. Well, I’m not putting up with this any more, young lady. You’ve changed since you came back from Lincolnshire, got far too big for your boots. I forbid you to visit Mrs O’Leary any more. It’s not normal, you spending so much time with a woman who is older than me. You should be out playing with your sister and friends of your own age.’

Eyes bulging with fury, Queenie let rip. ‘Do you wanna know why I spend so much time with Mrs O’Leary? Well, I’ll tell ya. She’s more of a mother to me than you’ll ever be. It was Mary who bought me my first bra and menstrual pads, and explained to me about the birds and bees. What did you do, eh? Let me lils bounce up and down like some slag and let me think I was dying—’

‘Stop it!’ Viv screamed, putting her hands over her ears. ‘Please, both of you, just stop it,’ she sobbed.

Queenie gave her younger sister a hug. ‘Come on; let’s go out and get some fresh air.’

Molly Wade put her head in her hands. She could feel Queenie slipping away from her and in her bones she knew it was too late to bring her back.

Aunt Edna welcomed her nieces with open arms. And she wasn’t too shocked to learn the truth of what had been going on. She knew from past experience that Eric was an arsehole in drink and she knew Molly hadn’t been herself of late. However, she was furious to hear that Queenie and Viv had been lying awake night after night, listening to Eric force himself upon her beloved sister. That wasn’t on.

‘And Mum’s got bruises. Loads of ’em. She won’t even get undressed in front of us down the public baths,’ added Queenie. ‘She insists on bathing on her own since I asked her about them.’

‘You never told me that,’ Viv exclaimed.

‘Only because I didn’t want to worry ya. I know Dad drags his right leg like a cripple now and I do feel sorry for him for getting shot. But he shouldn’t take that out on Mum and us. He don’t even call Mum by her name, he calls her ‘Woman’. He ain’t got no time for me an’ Viv either, Aunt Edna. He’s ’orrible to us. Really ’orrible.’

Aunt Edna sat between the two girls who were like daughters to her and put a comforting arm around their shoulders. ‘Right, ’ere’s what’s going to happen. I’m gonna make you a sandwich and a cuppa, then I’m gonna visit your mum whilst youse stay ’ere. I shall pick up some bits for you, then tonight you can come to work with me, have a singalong. Walter in the Crown won’t mind. How’s that sound?’

Queenie hugged her wonderful aunt. ‘Does that mean we can stay ’ere the night?’

‘You can stay ’ere whenever you want, you know that.’

‘Thanks, Auntie Edna,’ said Viv.

Queenie smiled for the first time that day. ‘Love you, Aunt Edna.’

Edna’s eyes welled up. ‘And I love you two more than you’ll ever know. Right, off to see your muvver now. You leave her to me.’

The weeks that followed were good ones for Queenie, the best she’d had since returning home. Aunt Edna had worked her magic on her mother and she and Viv were temporarily living with her. She also got confirmation from Dr Parrott, via Mrs O’Leary, that she definitely wasn’t pregnant. To say that was a massive relief for Queenie was an understatement. Mrs O’Leary reckoned it was the trauma of what had happened that had stopped her from having any more periods since, but said they would return in due course.

While living at her aunt’s, Queenie did not return home once to visit her parents. Viv did and said it was ever so cramped downstairs. She also said the new family traipsed through their home whenever they needed to use the kitchen or the toilet in the back yard. Queenie was furious about that. Say the man walked in while she was washing or getting dressed? It wasn’t even their home any more by the sounds of it. Queenie dreaded going back there.

It was on a Thursday afternoon that Queenie received the first bit of good news. ‘I visited your mum this morning, Queenie. Things still aren’t great at home with your dad, so I convinced Mum to allow you and Viv to stay with me for the rest of your holidays,’ explained Aunt Edna.

As for the second bit of news Queenie received. It wasn’t just good, it was absolutely mind-blowing.

CHAPTER SIX

I looked at Viv in amazement. ‘A telegram! But it can’t be for us. Who would send us a telegram?’

‘It is for us. I was at Mum’s when the man delivered it. It’s got both our names on the envelope. It’s from Betty and John,’ Viv explained.

For obvious reasons, I wanted to try to forget about my time in Lincolnshire, so I hadn’t written to Betty and John, not once. Viv kept in touch with them though and always signed her letters from herself and me.

‘Aren’t you going to open it then?’ asked Aunt Edna. ‘It must be important if it’s a telegram.’

‘You open it, Queenie,’ urged Viv.

‘No.’ I hated it when Viv read out the letters from the Briggs. It made me feel ill, especially their last letter, that ended with ‘Ivan is here. He sends his regards to you both and wants you to tell Miss Queenie those dart flights she bought him are still bringing him luck’.

‘Give us the bleedin’ thing ’ere, I’ll open it,’ demanded Aunt Edna. She ripped open the envelope. ‘Oh dear. It isn’t good news, girls, I’m afraid. A murder has occurred in Lincolnshire and a policeman will be visiting soon to speak to you both.’

‘What! Why?’ I asked. ‘We don’t know nothing about no murder.’

‘It’s not Betty or John, is it?’ said Viv, her complexion white.

‘No. It’s Ivan who worked for Betty and John. You were both friends with him apparently. I’m so sorry, girls. What a shock for you both. Come give me a hug, then I’ll make you a cup of sweet tea.’

My heart was leaping for joy. I wanted to jump up and down in celebration, but obviously I couldn’t. So I put on a shocked act and pretended to be upset like Viv, while secretly wishing Ivan had died in the most excruciating pain known to man.

Unable to contain my excitement, I ran round to Mrs O’Leary’s house to tell her the news. ‘Good,’ Mary said, grabbing my face in her big hands. ‘Now you can finally move on with your life, Queenie.’

‘But why do the police want to talk to me and Viv?’ I asked.

‘You can guarantee you weren’t the first young lady he did such a terrible thing to – once a nonce always a nonce. If I were you, I’d lie to the police and say he was worried about a few enemies in the village, but never mentioned any names to you. It’s the O’Leary family rule, Queenie: always lie to the coppers, always stay true to your family. Never done us no harm. We look after our family and friends alike, Queenie.’

‘OK. That’s what I’ll say then. Thanks, Mary. You’re just like a mum to me.’

Mary smiled. ‘And you are the daughter I never had. Time for you to shine now, my darling. Forget about the past and move on to the future. You can’t let what happened to you ruin the rest of your life.’

My eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m not sure I can move on.’

Mary gave my shoulders a shake. ‘Oh yes you will. Have you ever wondered why I felt your pain so much?’

‘Because you’re so kind,’ I replied.

She shook her head and hugged me to her chest. ‘What happened to you, my dear child, also happened to me back in Cork. I was younger than you. Twelve at the time.’

I started to cry, feeling her pain as sharply as if it was my own. ‘Mary, I’m so sorry.’

Mary gave my shoulders another shake. ‘Being sorry or feeling sorry gets you nowhere, angel. My brothers dealt with the bastard that abused me. And now Ivan has got his comeuppance. You have to move on. I did, and I ended up with three strapping sons. God rest his soul, my Seamus died, but I still have my Patrick and Daniel. They are my world. You must never tell anyone what I have told you today though. Even my boys don’t know the full story. There are some things sons shouldn’t know about their mother.’

I looked at Mary in awe. She was the strongest woman I’d ever known. ‘I will never say a word, I promise. And you are so right. Now Ivan is dead, I want handsome strapping sons just like yours.’

Mary smiled at me and squeezed my hand. ‘That’s my girl.’

Nine Months Later

Spring 1942

Queenie squeezed Viv’s hand as they listened to the latest dismal news bulletin. The Germans were bombing England again; not London this time, but there’d been attacks on Exeter, York, Bath, Norwich and Canterbury.

‘D’ya think they’ll bomb us again?’ Viv asked fearfully.

Queenie shrugged. ‘Not much left to bomb round ’ere, is there?’ she replied truthfully. The horror of the Blitz was still everywhere you looked. Houses, buildings and businesses had been reduced to piles of rubble and many men, women and children were hobbling around due to injuries they’d suffered. It had been reported that tens of thousands had lost their lives; Queenie could well believe it. Many people she’d known all her life had been killed in the bombings or while fighting overseas. St Mary Matfelon was no longer a church. That had been bombed beyond repair. As had Freddie the fishmonger’s. Poor Freddie had died, was burned alive while chopping up eels. Flo, his wife, had dropped dead at his funeral. A broken heart caused her death, the vicar reckoned. Even our coalman’s poor horse had been blown up. A bomb had dropped on his stable. Our coalman was devastated, as we all were. Trigger had been a wonderful horse, a big part of mine and Viv’s childhood.

Queenie hugged Viv. ‘No point worrying about it. What will be will be. No way am I being evacuated again though. I’m fifteen now, old enough to go to work and make my own decisions.’

Viv hugged her big sister. ‘I don’t wanna be sent away again either. I want to stay with you. If we’re gonna die, I’d rather us die together. I wouldn’t wanna live without ya.’

‘Cheerful pair, ain’t we?’ Queenie grinned. ‘And for the record, I wouldn’t want to live without you either.’

Once Viv left for school, Queenie sat out in the back yard with her book. Their useless Anderson shelter had now been dismantled and taken away, so there was room to sunbathe once again.

A gorgeous day in May, Queenie put her book down and closed her eyes. She always found it therapeutic when she could hear the birds singing. Life wasn’t too bad at the moment. In fact, it had turned out to be a godsend they’d rented out half their house.

After spending the school holidays with Aunt Edna last summer, Queenie and Viv had returned home. It was awful. The living conditions were cramped and their father would roll home drunk every night, waking everybody up.

Queenie begged her mum to chuck her father out. So did Aunt Edna, but her mum wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Your father is a war hero and a cripple. I can’t throw him out on the streets. Whatever would people think of me?’ were her mum’s exact words.

Then one night it all kicked off big style. Queenie witnessed her father trying to strangle her mother and couldn’t help but retaliate. The iron poker was the nearest object, so Queenie picked it up and repeatedly whacked it as hard as she could against her dad’s bad leg.

After that, Queenie, her mum and Viv all went to live with Aunt Edna. But then her dad gave up the drink again, and her mum moved back home on the understanding that if Dad fell off the wagon, she would leave him for good.

Queenie flatly refused to return home and told her mother in no uncertain terms that she and Viv would be staying at Aunt Edna’s. Her mother called a truce. The girls could sleep at Aunt Edna’s, provided they came home for their meals and told the neighbours they were only staying at Aunt Edna’s because it was now too cramped at home.

The arrangement had worked out well. Queenie loved sleeping at Aunt Edna’s and still got to see her mum and Mrs O’Leary every day.

Queenie’s bond with Mrs O’Leary had grown stronger than ever. Ivan’s murder had never been mentioned by either of them since the police had visited her and Viv. She’d done the talking, explaining that she’d spent more time with Ivan than her younger sister, and had calmly told the police Ivan had disclosed to her that he had a few enemies in the village whom he was scared of, but had never given her a reason or any names. The police toddled off quite happily with that information and hadn’t returned since.

Viv still kept in touch with Betty Briggs, but Queenie told her sister to keep the letters to herself now. She didn’t need or want any reminders, was afraid the terrible nightmares might return. Since she’d been staying at Aunt Edna’s, Queenie hadn’t had a single nightmare, and she’d taken Mrs O’Leary’s advice not to allow herself to think of Ivan. If he popped into her mind for any reason, she would immediately switch her thoughts to Daniel O’Leary. Daniel had recently split up with his girlfriend and Queenie couldn’t help but hope that one day, when she was older, she would marry him. She’d never disclosed such thoughts to Mrs O’Leary, mind.

Queenie’s reminiscing was ended by her mum calling her. ‘I’m going to the shops. Wanna give me a hand? I hope the queues aren’t as bad as yesterday,’ sighed Molly. Meat, tea, jam, biscuits, breakfast cereals, cheese, eggs, lard, milk, canned and dried fruit had all been added to the ration list. The queues were ever so long as women stood patiently, ration books in hand, desperate to get their hands on much-needed items.

‘Yeah. I’ll come with you,’ smiled Queenie. Since her mum had shown some backbone and left her father, then refused to return home until he gave up the drink, they were on much better terms. She still loathed her father though. Without a drink, he was the most miserable man in Britain. With a drink inside him, he was just a stranger.

The following morning, Queenie headed over to Mrs O’Leary’s with her best frock, shoes and underwear in her hands. She’d only left school last week and was desperate to bag herself a decent job before all the good ones went. Aggie Brown already had a job, in the Trebor factory. That wasn’t for Queenie; she would hate being cooped up inside a factory all day long. Encouraged by Mary, she had her heart set on working in a posh clothes shop.

‘I’ve run you a bath, darling,’ Mary smiled. ‘I’ll put the kettle on too. How you feeling? Not nervous, I hope.’

Queenie couldn’t believe her luck when Patrick and Daniel had recently had a proper indoors bathroom fitted. Mary was forever running her baths, which was a dream come true for Queenie. ‘I feel OK. I think I’d be more nervous if you weren’t coming with me though.’

‘I still think you’re going to the wrong area, Queenie. If I were you, I’d try locally. You won’t like all that travelling.’

‘But the wages’ll be more in the West End, Mary, and the clothes nicer. Please let’s go there. I’ve never properly been to the West End before. I’d love to see where the posh people shop and live.’