JOE AND NELLY A World War Two ghost story
CHAPTER 10

For the first couple of days, Joe found plenty of things to occupy him: he listened to the wireless; he cleaned all of Granddad’s pipes and organised them in the rack; he painted a shoebox stage, made some pipe cleaner figures and started to write a play to perform with them – he wanted to cheer Nelly up. He had tried not to think about her, but the image of her sitting all alone on the steps, wondering if she’d ever be reunited with her parents, was always with him. By the third day, he couldn’t stop fidgeting.

Nan insisted that he spend some time in Granddad’s armchair, resting his sore ankle on a footstool, which she made higher with a cushion she had plumped up to within a whisker of its life. Sharp points of feathers prickled his calf every time he moved. He couldn’t make up his mind what was worse: the feathers or the pins and needles that took over if he didn’t flex his leg every now and again. He asked for Granddad’s old walking stick, the one he used when he returned from the Great War with shrapnel injuries in his leg. Granddad hadn’t used it in a long time and it was handy for hooking things Joe couldn’t reach, as well as for getting out to the lavatory when he needed it. Afterwards, he leaned on the stick, watching pigeons and sparrows fly in and out of the back yard, picking at the little, overcrowded veg and flower bed and pulling up the occasional worm, until Nan made him come in again.

Granddad had been down to the local pub and collected a pile of second-hand children’s books and comics, donated by the regulars. Joe spent half the morning reading and the other half thinking. After dinner he settled back down in the armchair with a book – but only turned the pages for five minutes.

‘Nan,’ he said, putting down a dog-eared copy of Treasure Island.

Nan’s damp, pink face appeared in the door to the kitchen, where she was boiling tea towels in a huge metal pot of soapy water on the stove. Shimmering rainbow bubbles floated in with her. Normally, Joe would chase and burst the bubbles. Now he just stared at one hovering above her head.

‘When you’ve finished with the tea towels, would you please help me draw a map?’ he asked.

‘What kind of map? A treasure map?’ Nan nodded at the book on the arm of the chair.

‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ said Joe. ‘I need a proper, accurate map of the area, one that shows the exact position of Nelly’s house and our house before the Blitz - and the other buildings and streets around them. You’ve lived here all your life, so I think you’re the best person to help me.’

A smile spread across Nan’s face. She could be useful in the search for Nelly after all. She wiped her hands in a business-like manner on a dry tea towel, which she then shoved into the pocket of her apron. After returning to the kitchen to turn off the stove, she joined Joe in the parlour.

‘We’ll have to sit at the table,’ she said, ‘so that we have a good, flat surface and room to spread out. I’ll fetch paper and pencils while you make yourself comfortable. If you need it, we can move the footstool and cushion under the table, close to your chair.’

Joe used all of his strength to push himself out of the armchair and hobble over to the table. He wrestled with one of the hefty dining chairs until it was far enough out to squeeze onto. Once he was sitting up straight, with his foot on the cross rail, it was better than the armchair; there was no pressure on his ankle as long as he didn’t dangle or swing his foot. When Nan returned with some large sheets of paper and a box of pencils, Joe shot out his hand to grab some.

‘Mind your manners, Joe! Polite people don’t snatch,’ said Nan in a sharp tone like an angry teacher.

Joe had forgotten that Nan could be strict. He handed back the paper and stared hard at the embroidery on the table cloth. The flowers and leaves were made up of hundreds of neat little cross stitches, all in brightly coloured silk thread. Joe remembered that it was Nan’s handiwork. She was a patient woman and never angry for long. He looked up and gave her a lopsided smile.

‘I’m sorry, Nan. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just eager to get on with the map.’

It was forgotten as soon as they removed and folded the table cloth. They laid two pieces of paper on the table, one on top of the other, so as not to mark the surface. Then they straightened the paper out and smoothed it out, weighing it down with a brass bullet case in each corner. It was proper white paper, not the ironed, used brown paper bags that Nan usually gave him to draw on. He smiled. It was a sure sign that she was taking his map seriously too.

They started by sketching a pair of parallel lines to represent Lovegrove Street, with a dead-end where Nelly’s house used to be. They drew in all the houses and labelled them with the names of the people who lived in them. Joe coloured the houses that were still standing in yellow and those that were destroyed in the Blitz or other raids in red. They joined Lovegrove Street with the Old Kent Road, added the local swimming baths and then drew in Rolls Road parallel to the Old Kent Road, with Marlborough Grove running in between. They added Rolls Road School and the one near Avondale Square, and sketched in Rotherhithe New Road and Verney Road, and then all the streets in between. As the map started to take shape, Joe used a green pencil to shade in areas where they might replace Nelly’s body, including gardens and back alleys. But he didn’t tell Nan that – she thought it was grass.

By the time Granddad came home, Joe and Nan had a detailed, coloured and labelled map. Joe had also started a list of places to search. Granddad patted him on the shoulder and smiled at Nan.

‘You’ve made a good job of that map between you. I suppose we’d better start searching as soon as your ankle has healed up, Joe. How about Monday morning? There’ll be a lot of walking but Nelly’s body has been missing for a long time, so I don’t think it’ll make any difference if we take it slowly. We can plan a route in the meantime.’

Granddad pulled a twisted paper bag out of his pocket.

‘Here you go, Joe. You’ve earned these.’

Joe untwisted the paper to replace tuppence ha’penny worth of pear drops. He breathed in the aroma of them - a bit like Mum’s pink nail varnish, only fruitier. He offered the bag to Nan and Granddad, but they shook their heads.

‘They’re for you, Joe,’ said Nan. ‘Besides, I’ve got to catch up with my housework. It takes a lot longer without your help.’ She returned to the kitchen and shut the door.

‘You go ahead, Joe, and enjoy your sweets. I’m going to fill up a pipe and have some thinking time of my own,’ said Granddad, taking a briar from the rack and his tobacco tin from his pocket. ‘Do you think I could have my armchair back?’

Joe sucked on a pink pear drop and grinned.

‘Of course you can have your chair back, Granddad. I’m staying here so I can add some more details to the map.’

He remained at the table, working on the map, until it was time for Nan to lay out the supper things. That was his signal to take up his position on the stairs, to wait for Mum to come home from work.

He didn’t have to wait long before the front door opened and everyone arrived at once: Mum in her clippie’s uniform; Uncle Tom and Mr Davies in their overalls; and Auntie Margaret and Mrs Davies in their smart civvies. Mum and Joe went straight upstairs.

Joe waited on the landing outside their room while Mum removed her uniform and slipped into a skirt and blouse. She poured water from the jug into the basin and they washed their hands together, Mum blowing huge soap bubbles through the ring made by her forefinger and thumb, waving her hand like a magician and letting the soapy orbs float up to the ceiling. Joe tried too, with both hands forming an O, but his bubbles burst before they were big enough to float away.

While Mum brushed her hair, she told him about her day on the buses. She made him laugh with jokes she heard from other conductors and drivers at the bus station, as well as anecdotes about her passengers. She was good at telling stories and was a natural mimic, pulling faces and putting on voices. He wished he could tell her about his day, but it was still a secret, even though Nan, Granddad and Uncle Bill were all in on it.

After tea, Joe showed Mum the pile of books Granddad had brought home.

‘Wonderful,’ said Mum. ‘How about you choose a book to read before we go to sleep?’

‘I don’t even need to think about it. I’ve saved this one especially,’ Joe said as he held out a copy of Swallows and Amazons.

‘That’s my favourite!’ said Mum.

‘And mine,’ said Joe, hobbling up the stairs as fast as his ankle would let him.