‘I have to go to bed,’ I said. My mouth was dry with discomfort.
‘I could come with you,’ Jackson said, then he gasped and put his hand over his mouth in an overexaggerated fashion. ‘Not like that, Elsie. I meant to check you get in all right. I didn’t mean anything untoward.’
But the way he looked at me suggested he meant exactly that. My heart began to beat a little bit faster because I wanted rid of him and I didn’t have the energy to tell him to leave.
‘I’m very tired, Jackson,’ I said weakly.
‘Elsie! Oh, thank goodness!’
I looked round to see Mrs Gold hanging out of her living-room window on the ground floor of our maisonette. She was wearing a dressing gown and she had a headscarf covering her hair. ‘Elsie, could you help me?’
Next to me, Jackson stood up straighter, his chest puffed out. He had heard a woman ask for help, and he was ready to answer the call. I wanted to cry because I knew he was getting ready to go inside and then I’d never get rid of him.
‘What can I do?’ he said in a slightly deeper voice than he usually used.
‘Oh, thank you, darling,’ said Mrs Gold. ‘But it’s Elsie I need.’ She bit her lip and gave Jackson a meaningful look. ‘It’s women’s troubles.’
Jackson stepped back like she’d hit him.
‘I’m coming,’ I said. I darted round the side of Jackson and up the path before he could stop me, then I let myself into the front door and slammed it shut, leaning against it to catch my breath. Mrs Gold appeared in the hallway, next to her own front door.
‘Are you all right?’ she said.
I made a face. ‘Yes, are you? You said you needed help?’
‘I’m absolutely fine.’ She took off her dressing gown revealing she was fully dressed underneath, and then peeled off her headscarf too. ‘I thought you needed an excuse.’
I stared at her in astonishment. ‘I really did.’
She draped the dressing gown over her arm and smiled at mein a conspiratorial fashion. ‘Men like that are terribly scared of the workings of women,’ she said. ‘I knew if I looked like I’d just come out of the bathroom, he’d scarper.’
‘You’re amazing,’ I said in awe.
‘You’re tired. Off to bed.’
I nodded. ‘Thank you.’
She waved a hand like it was nothing and I started climbing the stairs to our flat, pulling myself up on the bannister.
‘Mrs Gold,’ I said, turning to her. ‘Do you think it’s important for people to say things? Before they die?’
She looked up at me, her blonde hair shining in the light of the hallway. ‘I suppose it depends who they are, and what they want to say.’
‘My brother Billy died,’ I said suddenly. The Golds hadn’t yet lived downstairs when I got the telegram and I’d never mentioned it. ‘And Jackson – the chap outside – he says Billy asked him to look after me.’
‘Did he?’
I sat down on the middle step with a thump. ‘Not really. I think Jackson offered and Billy just said yes in a kind of jokey way. But then he died and now Jackson seems to have this idea that he’s my guardian angel.’
Mrs Gold rolled her eyes.
‘I’m angry that Jackson spoke to Billy after I did,’ I admitted. ‘And these men at work – airmen – they want me to keep messages for them, for their families in case they don’t come back. And I know how much that would mean to them, but I feel a bit …’
‘Resentful?’
‘That’s exactly it. I didn’t get a message from Billy – I just got Jackson. And I know I’m being petty but I feel rotten about helping other people.’ I leaned back against the worn stair carpet. ‘Gosh, that’s awful. I’m awful.’
Mrs Gold came round to the staircase and sat down on the bottom tread. ‘I don’t think you’re awful; I think you’re sad.’
