Uprooted - a Canadian War Story

  We obviously much preferred this to the rather stiff visits to us, when the Laines would always be on their best behaviour; Gordon didn’t boss Luti about and there was no whiskey because O’F was teetotal, which meant he didn’t drink alcohol at all.

  We asked why he was coming over more often now, and when Mummy told us he was ‘feeling guilty’, we couldn’t see why.

  “Well, of course he couldn’t have known. He thought Gordon and Luti were the right people for us.”

  “He was right about Luti!” said Cameron staunchly.

  “Yes,” said Mummy. “Anyway, I’ve been unloading a bit to O’F. He’s the only family I’ve got to unload on—”

  “Except us,” I said, rather hurt.

  “Darling, when I do unload on to you, it’s me who feels guilty. Of course, O’F had no idea about Gordon’s … problem.”

  “You mean the benders,” said Cameron.

  “Mm.”

  The way she said ‘Mm’ made me wonder if there was some other problem she hadn’t unloaded on to me but had on to O’F.

  Christmas really brought out Gordon’s best side. He played Poppa and was extra nice and generous to us.

  He brought home a tree, which we helped decorate, and not only invited O’F to Christmas lunch, but went and collected him by car from the other side of town. It was quite a party because Luti insisted on inviting the Lords, and there were presents for them under the tree.

  Cameron and I got stockings, which we thought were our presents. But after lunch we were sent outside, and on the porch were two nearly new bicycles, all wrapped up. Even Cameron gave ‘Poppa’ a hug for that! We couldn’t ride them yet because the roads were sheets of ice – all the cars had chains round their tyres to keep from skidding. But we really were very excited and grateful.

  Mummy got a bottle of perfume. Her favourite, Je Reviens. She seemed completely overwhelmed, as if she just didn’t know how to react, but when Gordon caught her under the mistletoe she couldn’t very well not kiss him, and everybody laughed and clapped. Well, Luti didn’t, but she was busy clearing away the turkey bones.

  Gordon only drank a small glass of wine over Christmas. On New Year’s Eve there was a grown-up party and judging by the noise there was quite a lot of drinking then, but for several weeks there were no benders and things were nice at home. Mummy was calmer, and smoked less, and in January she let Luti take her to the bridge-club, though she didn’t play. But she met a woman there called Stella who loved acting.

  “But there are no theatres,” I said when she told me about her.

  “Well, not professional ones. But there is a little theatre and there’s an amateur dramatic society. Stella asked me if I’d go and give them a talk. They’re getting ready to do a new play and –” She wiggled her eyebrows at me – “they’re looking for a director.”

  Mummy had been a leading actress in London before she was married. I wouldn’t have thought she’d be interested in a lot of amateurs, but as Grampy used to say, “Any port in a storm.” She went downtown one evening and when she came back she was all sort of glowing.

  “They’re a nice lot,” she said. “Very keen. Of course I don’t know if they’re talented … They’ve given me the play to read. Look.” She showed me a little paperback called Penny Wise. “It’s an American comedy. I read the beginning on the streetcar. I kept laughing out loud.”

  “Would you like to direct it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never directed. But they loved the talk. I need something of my own to get my teeth into.”

  One way and another, as we began to look forward to the end of winter, I forgot about our plan for moving. Mummy agreed to direct Penny Wise. This took her out of the house and into town twice a week for rehearsals. She was loving it. She said the amateurs were “remarkably good” and “as keen as mustard”, and that she felt useful again, even though she didn’t get paid.

  And then the money came through from England.

  This was something to celebrate! It was as if Daddy (and Uncle Jack) were reaching out with love across the world and putting money in our hands. I didn’t know how much it was, only that it came to the bank every month. For the first time, Cameron and I got pocket money! Mummy didn’t have to get hand-outs from Gordon for ‘bits and bobs’ she needed to buy. She even offered him money for our keep. Big mistake. He got insulted and sulked for two days. But then Luti persuaded him that Mummy hadn’t meant to hurt him, and things got easier again.

  Or would have, if he hadn’t started buying her presents.

  This made her nervous, and even I could see Luti didn’t like it, because they were things like a new handbag and silk stockings and a scarf-and-glove set. Mummy had to use them because if she didn’t, Gordon would hint and make remarks until she did. Then he was very smiley and kept saying flattering things to her. Two or three times he asked her to take her turban off so he could see her ‘lovely hair’.

  Still I didn’t have a single idea what was coming. I must’ve been stupid.

  It happened after a party.

  We were shunted off to bed soon after supper. The Swedish daily lady had come in for the evening to serve. She and Luti got the living room ready, with little tables and coasters for the glasses, so they wouldn’t leave rings on the polished wood, the floor rugs all straightened out, the cushions plumped, and everything dusted and shiny. Gordon put the radio on to some dance music. All the downstairs lights were blazing (Luti often went around switching them off to save electricity) and the radiators were on at full blast.

  From my room I could hear people arriving. Mummy, of course, was the guest of honour. She’d put on a dress that she liked – blue-green, her favourite colour – but then, after a few minutes, she came back upstairs and changed.

  She glanced at me, watching her. “Gordon said I should wear my yellow dress,” she said shortly.

  I noticed she didn’t put on any eye-stuff, but she touched up her nails. She always wore bright red nail varnish. She put on different earrings to match the dress.

  “Aren’t you going to put on your Christmas perfume?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, kissed me goodnight, and told me not to read too late.

  There was plenty of noise coming up the stairs. Cameron came in after he’d cleaned his teeth.

  “What a racket,” he said. “Why do they have to shout so much?” Then, “What’re you reading?”

  “Anne of Green Gables. It’s a lovely Canadian story.”

  “I’ve got to read Prester John for school,” he said. “It’s quite good …” He sat down on the bed. This was very unusual. “Lind, do you think we’ll be staying on here, with the Laines?”

  “Why not?” I said carelessly. “Things are OK now, aren’t they?”

  “Well, I mean, haven’t you noticed that Gordon’s got a pash for Auntie Alex?”

  I stared at him. A pash? I couldn’t think of anything to say. Surely such a thing couldn’t be. He was married. Mummy was always talking about Daddy.

  “Did you know the Lords are leaving?” Cameron asked next.

  The change of subject threw me. “How do you know?”

  “A boy in my class’s mother knows Mrs Lord. They’re moving to New York, to some other relatives.”

  Willie hadn’t said a word about this to me. Maybe she didn’t know. But I was still thinking about the pash.

  “But – so what?”

  “Well. Auntie said if we did move, it would have to be somewhere not as posh as here. I was thinking, maybe we could go to live in the Warrens’ house. Rent it I mean.”

  My book had fallen off the bed. Cameron bent, picked it up, looked at it rather scornfully, and gave it back to me. There was a loud gale of laughter from downstairs.

  “Maybe I’ll suggest it,” he said, standing up. “’Night. Not that we’ll get much sleep.”

  Despite the racket, I had almost dropped off to sleep, very late, when I heard footsteps clacking up the parquet stairs. Then someone
in high heels ran past my door, and Luti and Gordon’s bedroom door along the corridor slammed.

  I lay still, frowning. It must have been Luti. Though she never slammed doors. I noticed that the voices downstairs had gone quiet, then some odd, nervous laughter. Then talking started again, but not so loud. After a few minutes, I heard more footsteps on the stairs – a man’s this time. It could only be Gordon. He went to the bedroom. I heard Luti’s voice raised, but I couldn’t hear the words. You never heard Luti shouting, but now she did, and right away the door opened again and I heard Gordon walking quickly along the passage and back down the stairs.

  I was sitting up by now. But when nothing else happened, I lay down again, and after a bit I dropped off to sleep.

  When I woke up next, it was still night, but the little light on the dressing table was on, with a headscarf over it to shade it. Mummy was there. The wardrobe was open and so were the drawers. There were suitcases lying open on the floor and she was throwing things into them.

  “Mummy! What are you doing?”

  “Lindy, please go to sleep. It’s half-past one in the morning.”

  “I want to know why you’re packing! Are we leaving?”

  “Yes. As soon as it’s light. Now go to sleep, please.”

  “But what’s happened?”

  “I can’t tell you now. Please do as you’re told.”

  I lay silent, my heart thumping, watching her. I suppose I must have dropped off because the next thing I knew was her gently shaking me awake. There was light coming through the thickly frosted window.

  “Get up and get dressed,” she whispered. “Snowsuit too, and your boots. I’ve put your things out for you. Cameron’s nearly ready.”

  The room was cleared, except for my clothes. No, not quite. All the presents Gordon had given her – the bag, the stockings, everything – were piled on the dressing table. I noticed the bottle of Je Reviens in the middle, reflected in the mirror.

  Mummy said, “Go to the toot downstairs. I don’t want the flush to wake them up.”

  But she must have forgotten to tell Cameron that, because I heard the flush in the bathroom between our bedroom and the Laines’. And just as we were creeping out on to the landing with our suitcases, Gordon, in his pyjamas and with his dark hair on end, burst out.

  “Where are you going?”

  “We’re leaving, Gordon.”

  “No you’re not! By Gahd, you’re not! I won’t let you!”

  “There’s no way on earth you can stop me.”

  She gave Cameron one of our suitcases and me another, and between us we staggered down the stairs. Gordon was behind us. He was shouting, and actually grabbing Mummy’s arm. She shook him off. At that moment, the doorbell rang.

  “Who’s that!” shouted Gordon.

  “My taxi, I imagine,” said Mummy.

  Gordon stopped cold. “Alex,” he said in a strangled voice. “Don’t do this. I beg you. Where are you going? You’ve nowhere to go.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We’re not your business any more,” Mummy said.

  Just then Luti appeared at the top of the stairs in her nightie, pulling on a dressing gown. “Gordon! Leave her alone!” she cried.

  He ignored her.

  We were down in the living room by now and Mummy pushed Cameron ahead to open the front door.

  “Give the driver the suitcases,” she said. “Tell him to load up as quickly as possible.”

  Suddenly Gordon left us and dashed up the stairs again, shoving Luti aside, and ran into our room. A moment later he reappeared. He was holding the handbag he’d given her. He almost fell down the stairs.

  “You left my presents! Couldn’t you have spared me that? Did you have to insult me? Don’t you realise I was drunk? I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Oh my Gahd, what’ll I tell people? Don’t go, please don’t go!” He was crying.

  Luti stood on the stairs, just staring down.

  At least I should say goodbye to her, I thought, but Mummy was herding us out into the cold morning and I couldn’t turn back.

  The air outside was almost as white as the snow with early-morning mist. Our breath came out even whiter as Mummy urged us towards the taxi that was waiting at the kerb. I nearly slipped on the icy path as I half ran down towards it, following Cameron. I could hear a commotion behind me, but I didn’t look back until I was sitting in the taxi. Then I looked out through the open door.

  Gordon was struggling with Mummy. He was trying to hold her and Luti was trying to stop him. He was begging, pleading, shouting. He wouldn’t let go. Suddenly, Mummy snatched the handbag from him and slapped him across the face with it.

  There was a terrible moment – frozen, like the air – then he let her go. The bag fell on to the front step. Mummy, in her snow boots but with her coat still open, ran down the path, jumped into the taxi, slammed the door, and said, like in a movie, “Drive! Anywhere! Drive!”

  So what had happened?

  We didn’t find out right away. We sat in silence as the taxi took the scenic route around Saskatoon on the empty early-Sunday-morning roads for twenty expensive minutes, while Mummy had a good cry and a good rave: “Stupid, wretched man, how dared he! How dared he!” And then a frantic think.

  “I suppose we’ll have to go to a hotel,” she said, after blowing her nose for the third time.

  “Why not to O’F’s?” I asked.

  “Oh don’t be silly, Lindy! He hasn’t got room for us, and it’ll only make him feel terrible that we’ve had to run away!”

  And then Cameron piped up with his idea.

  “Why don’t we go to the Lords’?”

  “The Lords? You mean, the Warrens?”

  “They’ve gone, and the Lords are going. They’ve got three bedrooms, haven’t they, Lind? Maybe they could share, just for a few days till we think of something, and maybe we could stay on there when they leave?”

  Mummy stared at him, thinking.

  “Well …” she said at last. “Any port in a storm … What’s their address, Lindy?”

  “Thirty-eight Taylor Street.”

  Mummy repeated that to the taxi-driver. He turned the taxi around on its crunchy, chain-covered wheels, and drove towards the Exhibition Grounds. Across the tracks.

  By the time we reached the little clapboard house on Taylor Street, Mummy had smoked half a Black Cat, calmed down, and put on some make-up. Cameron and I were breathing normally again and I, at least, was beginning to enjoy a feeling of relief. I felt as if some heaviness I hadn’t known I was carrying had been lifted away.

  Willie came to the door. She was still in her pyjamas. (Imagine! Answering the door on a Sunday morning in your pyjamas! Luti would have had a fit.)

  She gaped at us, and then behind us to the taxi, still standing there.

  “Hi! What gives? What are you guys doing here?” she said, looking pleased.

  “Can we see your mum?” asked Mummy.

  But Mrs Lord was already coming down the passage from the kitchen. She was still in her dressing gown. “Alex! Lindy … What …?”

  “We’ve run away from the Laines’,” Mummy said.

  Her jaw dropped. But then she said: “Good for you! Come in! Come in!”

  “We’ve got all our luggage—”

  “Bring it in. Pay off the taxi – good heavens, get rid of him before he beggars you! Alfie! Come and help!”

  Between us we carried all our stuff on to the open porch and piled it amid the snowdrifts, before going into the little house, which was warm and welcoming. There was a good smell of coffee and toast and bacon.

  “Willie, make more breakfast. Sit down – Alfie, bring the other chairs in from the sitting room.”

  Soon the six of us were gathered around the wooden table, which was covered with scratched oilcloth. Mrs Lord poured coffee for us, while Willie stood by the old-fashioned gas stove throwing eggs and bacon into two frying pans.

  “So, tell me at once – I can’t wait to hear! What happened?”

>   Mummy didn’t speak for a minute. Cameron and I waited breathlessly.

  “He made a pass at me,” she said.

  Nobody spoke, but I heard my breath come noisily into my throat.

  “You mustn’t tell anyone. It would ruin him, and I don’t want that. He’s been very good to us on the whole.”

  “I won’t tell a soul, though I’d like to know how you’re going to explain it! The whole town’ll be talking! Go on, what happened exactly?” She seemed to snuggle down in her chair, resting her chin on her hand.

  “There was a party. Gordon drank too much. Much too much. He was sort of – showing me off, as usual, and – flirting with me. You know, making silly remarks, about me being ‘Poppa’s best girl’ – dreadfully embarrassing, and Luti suddenly lost her temper and ran upstairs and didn’t come back, even when Gordon went after her. Then they all went back to drinking and there was some dancing and Gordon wanted to dance with me but I wouldn’t. I wanted to go up to Luti, but he wouldn’t let me. He literally stood over me and wouldn’t let me.

  “At last all the guests left. I was just dying to get away but Gordon asked me to help to clear up, because the maid had left hours before, and I couldn’t not do that. So I was in the dining room with a tray, piling dishes, when he came tiptoeing up behind me and – suddenly he put his arms around me and tried to kiss me.

  “I dropped a plate and pushed him away. And then – oh, Irene! It was so absurd! He started chasing me round the dining-room table.”

  Cameron snorted. I dared not look at him. I was so shocked, and yet it was funny. I could just picture Mummy running round the table with Gordon after her.

  “Go on, go on!” said Mrs Lord.

  “Do you know what he said? And this was what did it, for me. He said, ‘You oughta be grateful to Poppa for saving you from the bombs!’”