by Ellie Dean
‘It strikes me that woman gets on everyone’s nerves,’ Ron muttered sourly. ‘’Tis a pity it’s us that’s lumbered with her.’
Peggy agreed with him whole-heartedly but was in no mood to continue the argument at this time of the morning, so she finished her breakfast in silence. Lending half an ear to the news, she tried not to worry over Cordelia, the strained atmosphere Doris was already causing and the uncharacteristic absence of Sarah, who was usually an early riser.
The newscaster’s plummy voice filled the silence. The Allied troops had secured the beachheads and were still making progress into France despite some resistance. The RAF was continuing their nightly bombing raids over Dunkirk, Boulogne and the Ruhr, and the Americans were now raiding during the day. The Allied losses were reported to be light, with only five planes brought down, but there was, Peggy noted, little mention of the casualties that must have been inflicted amongst the invading troops. The news at home was of a V-1 attack in London which had tragically killed twenty people.
Peggy’s hand trembled as she clattered the spoons into the empty bowls and carried them to the sink. There had been so much excitement when news of the invasion had broken, but Hitler’s latest terrifying weapon served to remind them all that victory was far from being assured, and after five long years of struggle and deprivation this war was wearing down even the hardiest of souls.
She blinked away the thought, determined to remain positive, and glanced up at the clock. ‘Where on earth has Sarah got to?’ she muttered. ‘She’ll be late for work at this rate, and it’s a long walk to the Cliffe estate.’
Without waiting for a reply from Ron, who was engrossed in the war report, she dashed upstairs and peeked into Cordelia’s room to check she was still asleep, then hurried along the landing to the bedroom Sarah shared with Fran.
She tapped lightly on the door, feeling guilty that she might wake Fran, who’d just come off night duty at the hospital and was having a precious day off. Getting no reply, she eased the door open and in the light coming through from the hall, found both girls fast asleep. She tiptoed across the room to the single bed beneath the window.
‘Sarah,’ she whispered, giving her shoulder a gentle shake. ‘It’s after seven. You have to get up.’
Sarah, who was usually so lively in the mornings, mumbled something and rolled over, pulling the bedclothes with her until she was buried within them.
Peggy gave her a more determined shake. ‘Wake up, Sarah,’ she hissed. ‘It’s late, and you won’t have time for breakfast if you leave it much longer.’
Reluctantly, Sarah drew back the bedclothes and sat up, her fair hair tousled, her blue eyes heavy-lidded and dull. ‘Sorry, Aunt Peg,’ she said through a vast yawn. ‘I didn’t get much rest last night. I kept having the most horrible dreams.’
Peggy wondered fleetingly if her nightmares had more to do with her heart-wrenching dilemma over her fiancé Philip and her sweetheart Delaney than the V-1 explosion. She put a loving hand on her slim shoulder as Fran mumbled and moved about restlessly in the other bed. ‘I know, dear,’ she whispered, ‘and you’re not alone. Now get dressed and you can tell me all about them whilst you’re having breakfast. They won’t seem so frightening in the daylight.’
Sarah rubbed her eyes then reached for her washbag. ‘I wish that was true,’ she sighed.
Peggy squeezed her shoulder in sympathy then hurried out of the room before Fran was disturbed any further. She decided that whilst she was here she’d go and check on the two girls at the top of the house, for she couldn’t hear them moving about up there. They were both reluctant to leave their beds in the morning, and she’d always had trouble digging them out so they weren’t late for work.
Ivy was due to start her shift at the armaments factory in an hour, and although Rita was still hampered by the plaster cast on her leg and couldn’t play much part in her work at the fire station, she still needed to keep proper hours and do something useful with her day.
She was a bit out of breath by the time she reached the second-floor landing, but on opening the bedroom door was pleasantly surprised to see that Ivy was already dressed in her dungarees and sturdy boots, and Rita was dragging on a skirt over her heavily plastered leg.
‘I just thought I’d make sure you were up,’ said Peggy. She cast a despairing look at the discarded clothes and dirty crockery scattered about the room. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could tidy up before you leave the house. This place looks like a bomb’s hit it.’
Ivy, who’d now survived two bomb attacks, shuddered. ‘No, it doesn’t, Aunty Peg. A bomb makes much more mess.’
‘And we firefighters make it worse by chucking gallons of water over everything,’ said Rita airily. She shot Peggy an impish grin. ‘So, all in all, it’s quite tidy really.’
‘Just get on and do it,’ Peggy replied, trying not to smile at her cheek. She closed the door and hurried back to the first-floor landing. They were a couple of little imps, cheeky with it, and too sharp for their own good. But oh how she wished they’d at least make some effort to keep that room straight.
She listened at Doris’s door, but hearing nothing, went along to peek in at Cordelia again. Her breathing was still rasping, but the aspirin seemed to have lowered her temperature, which was a relief. Realising that the cup of tea had gone cold on the bedside table, she decided to make a fresh one when Cordelia awoke.
Peggy’s bedroom was off the hall, and as the girls bustled about upstairs with their usual chatter to get ready for their day, she checked her watch and calculated she just had time to sort out some more clothes for Doris. Not that she had a lot, but she was sure there was enough to tide Doris over until she got her compensation through and felt like going out to the shops.
She pushed the door open and froze at the sight of Doris in Peggy’s old dressing gown and hairnet, rifling through her chest of drawers, pulling out clothes and tossing them onto the unmade bed. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m looking for something respectable to wear,’ said Doris, not at all fazed by being caught red-handed. ‘I must say, Margaret, most of your clothes are fit only to be used as cleaning rags – especially your underwear.’ She held up a frayed petticoat that had seen better days.
In rising fury, Peggy strode in, snatched up the petticoat and slammed the drawer shut, narrowly missing Doris’s fingers. ‘You could at least have had the decency to ask first,’ she said tersely. ‘Not creep in here on the sly when my back’s turned.’
Doris folded her arms and glared at her. ‘I’m not being sly. As your sister, I didn’t think I had to ask permission.’
‘Sister or not, it would have been the polite thing to do,’ Peggy retorted. She took a steadying breath in an attempt to keep her temper. ‘Just because you live here doesn’t give you the right to go through my private things,’ she said, noting the open wardrobe doors, the empty hangers and shelves and the pile of clothing on the bed.
‘But they’re not yours, are they?’ said Doris, plucking the lovely blue woollen overcoat, the tweed skirt and pale lilac twinset from the pile as if to demonstrate the point. ‘I bought these and as an act of charity let you use them when I’d finished with them because you clearly needed something proper to wear.’
‘I didn’t realise I was a charity case, or that they were on loan,’ said Peggy through gritted teeth. ‘It still doesn’t alter the fact that you should have asked before coming in here.’
‘I had hoped you’d return the favour without making a fuss,’ said Doris, tightening the belt on Peggy’s old dressing gown. ‘After all, I’ve lost everything but for what I was wearing that day, and am now forced to avail myself of your cast-offs.’
‘They are not cast-offs,’ Peggy hissed, stung by the insult. ‘That dressing gown and nightdress are perfectly adequate.’
Doris sniffed. ‘I’m not used to adequate,’ she said flatly, eyeing up the thick dressing gown which was hanging from a hook on the back of the
door. ‘Why didn’t you give me that instead? It looks almost new and is of far better quality.’
Peggy snatched the dressing gown out of her reach and held it to her chest. ‘This is Jim’s and it’s staying here with me.’
‘Jim’s not here and my need is greater,’ said Doris. ‘Don’t be a dog in the manger about it, Margaret. Sentimentality is all very well, but it butters no parsnips.’
‘You’re not having it,’ said Peggy, stuffing it into a drawer and standing guard over it. ‘And I’m not being dog in the manger about anything. If you’d had the decency to wait until I had the time to sort through all your cast-offs, you’d have had the lot back anyway.’
‘Then I’ve saved you the bother,’ said Doris unrepentantly. She eyed the denuded cupboard. ‘Where’s the mink wrap I brought over at Christmas?’
‘In the box on top of the wardrobe,’ said Peggy crossly. ‘Like the overcoat, I never got the chance to wear it – so they’re as good as when you lent them to me.’
‘That’s hardly surprising,’ said Doris, reaching for the box. ‘You don’t exactly have the sort of social life that warrants such things, and I don’t really know what I was thinking of to pass them on to you in the first place.’
Peggy folded her arms tightly about her waist and bunched her fists. ‘Neither do I,’ she said, cold with fury. ‘I might not gad about with the snobs in posh furs and expensive overcoats, but I do have a sense of what’s right, and I’d never dream of ransacking your room or being so nasty.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Margaret, stop dramatising everything,’ Doris said impatiently. ‘You want to thank your lucky stars it wasn’t your home that was blown to bits.’ Her lip curled as she regarded the shabby room. ‘Though it has to be said, it might be an improvement,’ she added.
Peggy saw red, and before she knew it she’d dealt a ringing slap to Doris’s cheek. ‘You bitch,’ she spat. ‘Take that back – or I’ll slap the other one to match.’
Doris cupped her rapidly reddening cheek with her hand. ‘How dare you strike me!’ she gasped.
Peggy’s dander was well and truly up. She gave Doris a shove that sent her stumbling against the bed. ‘And how dare you denigrate me and my home! You’re the rudest, most ungrateful person I’ve had the misfortune to know, and if you don’t mend your ways quick smart, I’ll do more than smack your smug face.’
There was sudden fear in Doris’s eyes as she backed away. ‘Now, Margaret, there’s no need …’
‘And stop calling me Margaret!’ Peggy yelled.
‘But—’
‘I’m not listening to you any more,’ Peggy stormed. ‘This is my home, and I will not have you ordering people about or taking it for granted you can come in here and help yourself to things – even if they are yours. Your attitude is rotten, Doris – and I’ve had enough of it.’
‘Yours is hardly pleasant,’ shouted Doris. ‘And I’m mortified that I’m forced to put up with it.’
‘No one’s forcing you to do anything,’ Peggy shot back. ‘If you don’t like it here, then you can sling your blooming hook and be done with it.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Ron.
Peggy whipped round to see Ron, Harvey and the four girls standing wide-eyed in the doorway. ‘Clear off. This is a private row,’ she said furiously, slamming the door in their faces before turning back to Doris. ‘Not that it will stay private now they’ve all witnessed that,’ she snapped.
Doris had gone a dark red, the mark of Peggy’s fingers visible on her hot cheek. ‘You’ve made it intolerable for me to stay here,’ she said, clearly struggling to regain her dignity in the shame of having witnesses to their angry exchange.
‘No,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘It’s you who’s been intolerable. Bossing everyone about like Lady Muck; demanding things as if this is a blooming hotel and turning up your nose at everything. It’s got to stop.’ The fire went out of her suddenly and she sank wearily onto the bed amongst the scattered clothes. ‘I’m not proud of losing my temper like that, but if you hadn’t been so high-handed and sneering we wouldn’t have had this set-to in the first place.’
Doris’s face worked as she tried to rein in her emotions and come up with a face-saving reply. ‘You really should learn to control your temper, Mar … Peggy,’ she said, gingerly touching her cheek. ‘It’s not ladylike, and violence solves nothing.’
‘That slap has been a long time coming,’ Peggy replied evenly, ‘and you deserved it. Don’t expect me to apologise, either, because hell will freeze over before I do.’
They glared at one another in silence until Peggy broke eye contact and began to gather up the clothing. The row had shaken her to the core, but she was damned if she’d let her sister know that. All she wanted now was an end to it. She grabbed the clothes into a rough bundle and thrust them into her sister’s arms.
‘You’ve got what you came for,’ she said, adding the box containing the fur wrap to the pile. ‘I suggest you have a long, hard think about things before I have to face you again today.’
Peggy didn’t offer to help as Doris wrestled with the unwieldy bundle and tried to turn the doorknob without dropping anything. When the door opened to reveal that the others were still earwigging, she saw Doris turn an even deeper puce and determinedly refused to feel sorry for her.
Ron and the girls couldn’t hide their glee at Doris’s humiliation. They refused to budge, thereby forcing her to push her way through them, and there were smothered giggles as she fled up the stairs.
‘The show’s over,’ Peggy said tightly. ‘And I’ll thank you all to keep what you heard to yourselves.’
Closing the bedroom door on them, she sank back onto the bed and tried to regain her equilibrium. The unpleasant scene, coming so soon after the shock and horror of the bomb attack, had shaken her already unsteady nerves, and Doris’s arrogance and disdain for all she held dear had been the last straw. She’d never lost her temper like that before – and the power of it frightened her. And yet, as her pulse steadied and the anger subsided, she realised the set-to had been inevitable from the moment Doris had moved in.
She regarded the shabby bedroom with its worn linoleum, battered furniture and peeling paintwork. It might not be up to much, but it was her refuge, and if Jim was here, he too would have told Doris to sling her hook. She gave a deep sigh and began to tidy the mess.
As she folded her few remaining clothes and closed the wardrobe door on the empty hangers, she wished circumstances were different, and that Doris could move out. But with the war on, and so many people made homeless, accommodation wasn’t that easy to find, and she couldn’t bear the thought of her sister being forced to share a room in a hostel, or having to bed down in a church hall.
Feeling dispirited, she went to stand by the heavily taped window to watch another squadron of American fighters and bombers head for France. The vibration caused by their powerful engines rattled the rotting window frames and shuddered through the old walls, bringing yet another drift of plaster from the ceiling to settle on the floor.
Peggy bit her lip in consternation. The war still dragged on despite the Allied invasion and the liberation of Rome, and it seemed they still had more of it to contend with. The knowledge that she was stuck with Doris until peace was declared made her even more depressed.
‘I just hope she comes to realise how lucky she is to have a roof over her head,’ she muttered. ‘It might not be as grand as she’s used to, but it’s better than some.’
The rap of the door knocker brought her out of her gloomy thoughts and she hurried into the hall to find old Doctor Sayer greeting Ron and Harvey and looking more like Father Christmas than ever now he’d put on weight and let his silky white beard grow even bushier.
‘My boy Michael is taking morning surgery,’ he explained in his deep baritone voice, ‘and I thought that as Cordelia is getting on a bit, I’d pop in early. Chills can be nasty things for elderly ladies.’
Peggy’s smile was wry, for Dr
Sayer was a year older than Cordelia, but thanks to the war, he’d had to come back from retirement. ‘Thank you for taking such trouble,’ she said, leading the way upstairs. ‘I don’t like calling you out when you’re so busy, but I am worried about her.’
Dr Sayer proved to be very sprightly for a man fast approaching his eighty-first year, and he reached the landing without pausing for breath. ‘In here?’ he asked, waving at the open door, and sweeping in before she could reply.
He placed his black bag on the bed and plonked down next to it, making the mattress dip so alarmingly that Cordelia had to grip the blankets to stay on board. ‘Now then, Cordelia,’ he boomed, ‘what’s all this I hear about you not feeling the full ticket?’
‘There’s no need to shout, Herbert Sayer,’ said Cordelia, fiddling with her hearing aid. ‘I don’t want the entire neighbourhood knowing my business.’
He chuckled and dug a stethoscope out of his bag. Waiting for Cordelia to get over her coughing fit, he then listened carefully to her chest, felt the glands in her neck and took her temperature. ‘Hmm. It’s a bit high, old thing,’ he rumbled, putting the thermometer back in its case. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Standing about in water-filled ditches trying to avoid Hitler’s V-1,’ she rasped.
‘Good Lord,’ he breathed. ‘Were you caught up in that?’
Cordelia had another coughing fit and could only nod.
Herbert Sayer dug about in his bag and brought out a bottle of pills and a prescription pad. He scrawled something on the pad, tore off the page and handed it to Peggy. ‘She’s to take one of those pills every four hours, and the Friars’ Balsam will help ease her chest. You know the drill, Peggy. Big bowl, lots of very hot water to infuse the Balsam and a towel placed over the head whilst she inhales the steam.’
‘I am here, you know,’ said Cordelia crossly. ‘And quite capable of following orders.’
He patted her hand. ‘I’ll be back this evening to check on you, but should you want me, day or night, just get Peggy to telephone the surgery and one of us will come.’
