The Grafton Girls - Annie Groves [77]
‘There you are, Ruthie. That’s what happens to folk who go stealing,’ Maureen told her when they were both back at their benches, ‘and if you was to ask me then I’d say it serves her right,’ she added. ‘Life’s hard enough without having them as you’re working with nicking yer stuff.’
Ruthie couldn’t bring herself to say anything. No matter what the woman might have done, surely it wasn’t right that she should have been treated so cruelly?
‘Get on with yer,’ Maureen mocked her. ‘Just look at yer, wi’ yer hands all trembling and yer face whiter than that ruddy milk they mek us drink. Anyone’d think you were stealing yerself.’
‘Of course I’m not,’ Ruthie protested.
‘Then don’t go acting so guilty, otherwise folk’ll think that you’re ter blame next time summat goes missing,’ Maureen advised her sharply.
‘But how did they know it was her?’ Ruthie asked.
‘Found some stolen stuff in her locker was what I’d heard,’ Maureen replied with a small shrug.
‘Then surely they should have reported her and not—’
‘Lor’, but you’re a softy at times. What’s the point of doing that? This way she’s bin taught a lesson she won’t forget in a long time, an’ she’ll have to explain to folk how she come by that red face she’s going to have. Now give over trembling like that, will yer, otherwise you’ll be having hot TNT all over yer hands.’
Jess observed the incident of the woman being punished for her crime of stealing without any real interest. Her thoughts were fully occupied with a different kind of crime. The crime against common sense and self-protection committed by Billy.
How could he have done such a daft thing as volunteer for the bomb disposal lot – and he had volunteered, she had now found out, despite him making out to her that he had been forced into it. Everyone knew that the life expectancy of anyone stupid enough to join was measured in days rather than years.
Billy’s reckless lack of regard for his own safety was still filling her thoughts to the exclusion of everything else when she got home.
‘What’s up wi’ you?’ her uncle asked her good-naturedly. ‘You’ve bin in ten minutes and hardly said a word. Not that I’m complaining, like,’ he teased.
‘It’s that Billy Spencer,’ Jess told him angrily. ‘Going and joining up for the bomb disposal lot. He must be off his head. Just because he wants to play the hero for some girl. Well, he’ll be a dead hero, and what use will he be to her then?’ Jess’s voice had risen sharply, and now she put down her knife and fork, her appetite for her tea swamped by her emotions. ‘What does he know about bombs?’ she asked.
‘Well, he was allus tinkering with stuff and taking it to bits when he was a kiddie,’ her mother offered. ‘Happen he’ll be better at it than you think.’
‘He’ll kill himself,’ Jess pronounced starkly, oblivious to the looks her mother and uncle were exchanging as her mouth started to tremble betrayingly.
‘If you feel that strongly about it, lass, happen you’d better go and have a word with him,’ her uncle suggested gently.
‘What for? He won’t listen to me, not when he’s got some girl mooning around after him, telling him what a hero he is. Well, I hope she likes her heroes dead because that’s what she’s going to get if he goes ahead with this.’
‘It may not be as bad as you think, Jess,’ her mother tried to comfort her.
‘How can you say that? The only reason they’re recruiting men is because they’ve lost that many. Liverpool is chock-full of Hitler’s bombs that haven’t exploded. Every time you open the paper there’s talk of someone finding another one. There was those kiddies wot found one down by the railway sidings last week, and the week before that…’ Jess couldn’t go on.
‘Seeing that chap of yours tonight, are you?’ her uncle asked her, trying to lighten the mood.
Irritably Jess shook her head. ‘He’s a soldier, come to fight a war. He’s not been sent here to take me out.’
‘All right, keep your hair on, girl. I