by Ellie Dean
‘She decided to refurnish,’ said Peggy tightly. She placed a large pot of tea on the table with a dull thud.
‘I have plans for this morning,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it later.’
‘Ron, please don’t be trying,’ she replied, sitting at the table and cutting Daisy’s toast into fingers. ‘Those things are to be put back before you go anywhere. Doris has gone too far this time, and I won’t stand for it.’
Ron poured out the tea whilst Peggy reeled off the catalogue of Doris’s wrongdoings, and when she’d finally paused for breath, he grinned. ‘To be sure, I’ll do it the minute I’ve had this tea – but first, I’m nipping out to the bakery.’
Peggy smiled as he told her his plans. ‘You see, you do know how to woo a woman,’ she teased. ‘It’s a lovely idea. I’ll keep the bread warm in the slow oven whilst you sort out that furniture. The other jobs can wait until later today.’
Ron drank down his tea, eyeing the gathering clouds outside, and decided this was not the sort of day to be jaunting about in his jacket and fedora. He rammed on his old cap, snatched up a couple of sheets of yesterday’s newspaper and stuffed them into his poacher’s coat pocket, then hurried off to Camden Road, his heart light.
It was still very early and the street was almost deserted, but despite the strong wind coming off the sea and the scudding clouds that promised rain, he could smell the heavenly aroma of baking bread waft towards him.
Changing his mind about picking up the bread now, he nipped down the side alley towards the back of the bakery and ordered Harvey to sit and stay, then stepped straight into the large, warm kitchen where the new owner was just drawing the loaves and – miracle of miracles – white rolls, out of the huge brick oven.
‘Hello, Horace,’ Ron said cheerfully. ‘I was wondering if you could do me a favour.’
Horace was a short, tubby little man with a bristling moustache and an air of self-importance that made him look more like an officious bank manager than a baker. He eyed Ron warily, having been caught out doing him favours before. ‘Depends what it is,’ he muttered.
‘Could you hold back a cottage loaf and some of those lovely bread rolls for me and keep them warm for about an hour?’
‘The rolls are a special order,’ said Horace, continuing to draw the large trays from the hot oven and setting them on the battered wooden table. ‘And I don’t do cottage any more, just wholemeal tins.’
Ron swallowed his disappointment. ‘I only want two bread rolls,’ he said, looking longingly at the beautiful golden crusty treats on the tray. He hadn’t seen such things for ages, and they were making his mouth water.
As Horace thought about this, his expression became speculative. ‘If you don’t want them straight away, I suppose I could do a few extra. But they’ll cost you, Ron – and I’ll need paying in advance. And you’ll have to take six, or it won’t be worth my while making more dough.’
He’s a wily old fox, thought Ron, who’d hoped he’d just give him two as there were so many. ‘To be sure, six will be fine,’ he replied, rubbing his hands together and dismissing all thoughts of how much this might cost him.
‘Can I take four from this tray now? It will be such a treat for Peggy,’ he added slyly, knowing Horace had a bit of a crush on Peggy and often slipped her an extra half-loaf when no one was looking.
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Horace, going a bit pink as he selected the four most perfect rolls and wrapped them in the newspaper Ron had brought. ‘The order isn’t due to be picked up until eleven, so I’ve got time to do a fresh batch before I open the shop.’
Ron took the warm parcel and held it to his chest before tucking it away in an inside pocket. The smell was making him feel quite light-headed. ‘Someone’s got a bob or two to order that many,’ he said, eyeing the two full trays and flinching as he handed over what seemed to be an inordinate amount of money.
‘It’s the memorial service for those women who were killed in Havelock Road,’ said Horace, his expression suitably mournful. ‘Lord Chumley’s holding a reception afterwards up at that posh house of his, and wholemeal bread isn’t good enough for the likes of those attending such a grand do. Lucky for me they’ve got more money than sense.’ He brushed his moustache with a floury finger. ‘I had to order in that white flour especially and it didn’t come cheap.’
It certainly didn’t if the price of those rolls was anything to go by. But Horace’s revelation made Ron wonder if Doris knew about the service. She hadn’t said anything – not that she’d said much to him at all since invading his home and his life.
‘Thanks for these, Horace,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back for the bread.’ His gaze drifted to the gorgeous white loaves Horace was now placing on the table. ‘I don’t suppose …?’
‘No, Ron. Those are for the reception sandwiches,’ said Horace firmly.
Ron shrugged and then shot him a grin. ‘Oh well, it was worth a try.’
He hurried back to Beach View, having to resist picking bits off the rolls along the way. Running up the concrete steps into the kitchen, he discovered everyone was up, including Doris, who was sitting on her own at the end of the table and rather pointedly being ignored.
‘Look at what I’ve got,’ he said, unfolding the paper to reveal the rolls like a magician. There were oohs and aahs, and everyone started talking at once. ‘You’ve got half each,’ he added, ‘and I suggest you eat them while they’re still hot.’
‘I’ll take Cordelia’s up,’ said Peggy, swiftly cutting into the crisp, golden crust and through the fluffy white bread, breathing in the delicious aroma. ‘But as there are nine of us, Ron, you’ll have to share my half.’
‘To be sure, there’s no need for you to go short, wee girl,’ he said. ‘I’ve ordered more for me and Rosie and will pick them up after I’ve moved the furniture from Doris’s room.’
‘It’s not convenient this morning,’ said Doris, greedily slathering margarine and jam on her roll. ‘I have to get ready for the memorial service, and I certainly don’t want you in and out whilst I’m trying to compose myself.’
Peggy scuttled out of the kitchen with Cordelia’s breakfast as Ron eyed Doris from beneath his brows. ‘Ach, it’s barely eight o’clock and the service isn’t until midday. Even you can’t take that long to get dressed.’
‘They were my dearest friends,’ said Doris dramatically, dabbing her dry eyes with a scrap of lace-edged handkerchief, ‘and some of the most influential and important women in the town – if not in the county. I blame myself entirely for their demise, and it’s my duty to honour them by being calm and dignified at the service.’
‘To be sure, I can understand that,’ said Ron, fully suspecting that Doris was already planning to take over Lady Chumley’s position as head witch of all the societies and charities in the town – and probably plotting to snare Lord Chumley and his title whilst she was at it. ‘But I’ll do it now, whilst you have breakfast, so you won’t be discombobulated.’
‘I am never discombobulated,’ she said icily.
‘You were yesterday morning,’ he retorted and made a hasty exit as she turned scarlet at the reminder of that slap.
Ron took the stairs two at a time until he reached the first floor. Passing Cordelia’s open door, he gave her a wave, pleased to see her sitting up in bed and chatting to Peggy as she tucked into her breakfast. She looked a good deal better, but Harvey had again decided he’d keep her company whilst Ron was busy elsewhere – although it was probably the siren call of food that had really attracted him.
Ron didn’t stop to chat, for the morning was already racing away from him. Entering Doris’s bedroom, he grimaced, fully understanding now why Peggy had been so incandescent.
It took almost an hour to shift everything back to where it belonged, and dig out the old velvet curtains from the loft. Having given them a good shake out of the window and exchanged them, he then went back downstairs with Harvey, to rehang the brocades in the dining room. They were a bit
dusty too, but a good few bashes with a cane carpet beater saw to the worst of it.
Feeling grubby and a bit out of sorts, he discovered someone was in the bathroom, so he hurried down to the scullery to have a wash, comb his hair and brush down his twill trousers, which were flecked with dust and lint.
He returned to the kitchen to find that Peggy was alone with Daisy and listening to the war report on the wireless. ‘Anything new?’ he asked, shrugging his poacher’s coat over his smart jacket.
‘The Americans won the battle in the seas off the Philippines after just two days,’ said Peggy, her face radiant with relief and hope. ‘The Japs lost three carriers, two oil tankers and over six hundred planes.’ She took a breath, her eyes shining with happy tears. ‘But the very best news of all is that the battle of Kohima and the siege of Imphal is over.’
‘That is grand news, so it is,’ he agreed, giving her a hug. ‘But how did they manage that? I thought they were stuck there for the long haul.’
Peggy grinned. ‘The Second British Division linked up with the Fifth Indian Division at Milestone 107 on the Imphal to Kohima Road – whatever that is – and simply overpowered the Japs.’ She hugged herself in delight. ‘Oh, Ron,’ she breathed. ‘If it goes on like this, our Jim will soon be on his way home.’
‘Don’t get your hopes too high, Peggy, girl. There’s a long way to go yet before all the Japs are sent packing out of that part of the world. And we still have Hitler to deal with.’
‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘But at least we seem to be making headway at last.’
He kissed her cheek and winked. ‘If only the battles at home were easier to win, eh?’ he teased.
‘I wish,’ she sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Doris is in the bathroom – probably using all the hot water again, which means Cordelia will have to wait for the tank to fill and heat up before she can have her bath. I dread to think what the electricity bills will be with her using the immersion heater so often.’
Ron placed a tender hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t fret yourself, wee girl. I’ll make sure she pays her share of the bills and find some way of getting her out from under your feet – though it may take a bit of clever manoeuvring, and calling in favours.’
‘Bless you, Ron,’ she sighed. ‘If anyone can do it, it’s you. I have to admit that after that trick she pulled yesterday, I’ve had enough of her. I’m seriously thinking of getting a lock put on my door.’
Ron hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but didn’t want to waste time talking about Doris and her nefarious ways. ‘I’ll see if I can get hold of Ted later on. I’m sure he’ll know how to deal with her.’
He patted his coat pocket to check he had his pipe and some paper to wrap the bread in, before placing the fedora at just the right angle over his brow and picking up the box of eggs. ‘I’ll be off to Rosie’s now. The other jobs will get done before Danuta comes home, I promise.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Try and have a good day, Peggy.’
‘You too,’ she replied affectionately. ‘And, Ron – don’t rush things with Rosie. Let her be the one to set the pace.’
He grinned and tapped the side of his nose. ‘To be sure, I know that.’
He stepped outside with Harvey to be met by a blustery wind and the first heavy drops of rain. Determined not to let the weather dampen his spirits, he pulled up his coat collar, and with Harvey trotting miserably beside him, strode down Camden Road again – a silly smile on his face at the thought of waking Rosie with the delights of fresh white bread rolls and a loving kiss.
He’d almost reached the bakery when he caught sight of his old pal, Sergeant Albert Williams, walking along the other pavement. Knowing how Bert loved to talk his ear off, and not having the time for it today, Ron ducked quickly into the shop, hoping his friend hadn’t seen him.
He emerged back onto the pavement some minutes later, his pockets loaded with bread, eggs, rolls and a bag of crumbs which he planned to mix in with the chicken’s feed later.
‘Good morning, Ron.’
His heart sank as he came face-to-face with the police sergeant. ‘Morning, Bert. Can’t stop, sorry,’ he said, trying to dodge round him.
Bert was a big man and he blocked Ron’s escape. ‘I was just on the way to Beach View as it happens,’ he said. ‘But meeting like this is much better, because there’s something I need to tell you.’
Ron silently groaned. ‘Get on with it, Bert. The bread’s getting cold and Rosie’s surprise will be spoilt.’
Bert raised a greying eyebrow at this, but his expression boded ill. ‘This is far more important than surprises for Rosie,’ he said.
‘Nothing’s more important than that,’ said Ron. ‘To be sure, Bert, will you spit it out and let me be on me way?’
Bert held up a brown envelope and Ron froze, his impatience dashed by icy dread as he stared at the telegram. ‘Holy Mary and all the saints,’ he breathed. ‘Please tell me it’s not my Jim.’
Bert’s meaty hand squeezed Ron’s shoulder. ‘You’d better read it, old pal.’
Ron’s hands were shaking and his heart was pounding, and he found that he had to read it twice, for he simply couldn’t focus on those few stark words. When he’d finally absorbed the terrible news, he looked back at Bert and took a trembling breath. ‘To be sure, you were right to collar me, Bert. This isn’t something any woman should hear without someone at her side.’
Bert nodded. ‘It’s my duty to tell her, Ron. But I’d be glad of your company whilst I do. I’m never easy with this sort of thing.’
‘Of course I’ll go with you.’ Ron was shaken, but still managed to think quickly and clearly. ‘Just give me five minutes to tell Rosie where I am, and then I’m all yours.’
Ron’s heart was pounding as he let himself into the Anchor through the side door and went upstairs to place the bread and eggs on the kitchen drainer. All was quiet, so he walked down the passage to Rosie’s bedroom. She was asleep still, looking lovely and rather vulnerable in that big bed, with Monty curled at her feet, and he didn’t have the heart to wake her.
The dog raised his head and wagged his tail, so Ron quickly closed the door to stop him from following him. The news he had was not the sort to be woken to, so he scrabbled in the kitchen drawer for paper and pencil and hastily wrote a note explaining everything. Propping the note next to the kettle so she couldn’t fail to find it, he hurried back to where Bert was waiting for him on the pavement.
The two old friends exchanged mournful looks, and without a word, tucked their chins into their coat collars and reluctantly headed very slowly through the rain for Beach View.
Peggy was washing up the breakfast things whilst Daisy was chasing Queenie about the kitchen with her wheeled horse. The noise of the squeaking wheels and Daisy’s yelling was beginning to get on her nerves, so Peggy opened the kitchen door to let the poor cat escape through the flap in the back door. The rain was coming down like stair rods now, but Queenie always managed to find the most sheltered spots, so Peggy accepted she’d be all right out there for a bit.
Daisy started wailing and throwing her wooden bricks about in a tantrum at being thwarted in her game. Peggy calmly ignored her and went back to the sink, knowing it wouldn’t last long if she didn’t make anything of it.
‘You really should control that child,’ said Doris. ‘Letting her get away with such behaviour is making a rod for your own back and teaching her a very bad lesson.’
Peggy turned from the sink ready with a retort and then realised it would fall on deaf ears anyway, so she shouldn’t waste her breath. She picked up Daisy instead and sat her down rather firmly at the table with her colouring book and crayons. ‘Behave,’ she said sternly, ‘or you won’t go to play with Chloe later.’
Daisy pursed her lips and eyed her belligerently, but thought better of continuing the tantrum and began to vent her spleen by forcefully colouring in a picture.
Doris sat down by the fire, still in Peggy’s old dressing gown, but with her face made up
and her nails freshly painted. ‘Before you accuse me of anything,’ she said flatly, ‘Fran lent me the nail polish. Luckily I had my Coty make-up in my handbag, so at least I wasn’t forced to borrow her cheap Woolworths powder and lipstick.’
‘That was lucky,’ muttered Peggy with more than a hint of sarcasm.
‘Look, Mar— I mean Peggy. I realise I went a bit too far yesterday, but you have to understand I’m really not myself. It’s all been such a terrible shock I can barely think straight, let alone sleep. And now I’ve got this awful day to get through.’ She twisted the diamond ring on her finger. ‘I’m dreading having to face those poor bereaved husbands and families knowing that if I hadn’t insisted upon holding that meeting at my place, they’d all still be alive.’
‘If that was some sort of apology, then I accept it,’ said Peggy coolly.
‘Thank you,’ Doris replied with a gracious dip of her chin.
‘And it wasn’t your fault those women were killed. No one could have foreseen that happening. It was just bad luck and rotten timing.’ Peggy lit a cigarette and sat opposite her sister. ‘We’ve all been on a knife-edge ever since the war started, never knowing from one breath to the next if it will be our last. Now we have this new weapon of Hitler’s which has already killed over a hundred people – some of whom were attending a church service at Wellington Barracks. It seems to me that regardless of who you are, or what you are, if your name’s on it, then your number’s up – and there’s not a thing anyone of us can do about it.’
Doris studied her freshly painted nails. ‘I don’t suppose you have any scent I could borrow? I don’t feel dressed without a dab of Guerlain’s Vol de Nuit on my neck and wrists.’
‘Have you even been listening to me?’ asked Peggy crossly.
‘They’re just words,’ said Doris dismissively. ‘Nothing can ease the pain I’m going through.’ She regarded Peggy evenly. ‘Well, do you have any scent, or not?’
Peggy had seen that Guerlain perfume advertised in the well-thumbed glossy magazines Solly’s wife, Rachel, had left in the staff canteen at the factory, and knew the name meant Night Flight in honour of the brave pioneer aviators who’d opened up a mail service across Africa. It was a pretty bottle, but after browsing the perfumery counter in Plummer’s she’d discovered that the price was way beyond her purse. Fortunately, the woman behind the counter had taken pity on her and dabbed a tiny drop on her wrist. It had lasted for hours and smelled glorious.
