by Nancy Revell
‘You OK?’ she asked.
Charlotte nodded and then did something she had done only a few times before – it was something she had done while they had watched their parents being lowered into the ground – she took hold of her big sister’s hand and kept hold of it.
Rosie glanced at Kate, looking très chic in a simple black cotton dress and low-heeled Mary Jane shoes. She looked as if she should be sitting in a Parisian café drinking coffee and nibbling a croissant while discussing the latest fashion trends.
Imagining Kate in the French capital, Rosie’s thoughts went to Peter. She knew he had been in Paris during his first stint behind enemy lines. Where was he now? What was he doing? Part of her didn’t want to know. Just as long as he made it through these next few weeks, months – however long it took for the Allies to claim back Europe. Rosie put her hand on her heart; she could feel it beating at a rapid rate. She was being hit by these waves of nervousness more frequently of late, which she told herself was understandable. She imagined athletes feeling the same at the approach of a big race. Only they weren’t risking death if they lost – nor would they have to sacrifice their lives to win, for that matter.
Rosie stopped her train of thoughts in its track. She had promised herself she would be positive. Peter was going to make it. She could not even consider the alternative.
The crowd cheered as the end of the parade passed them.
‘It’s a shame we can’t walk on the beach,’ Charlotte said, breaking Rosie’s reverie.
Rosie looked at the concrete pillboxes, gun batteries and rolls of barbed wire dotted along the coastline to cordon off beaches now peppered with landmines in case of invasion, something that was now believed to be highly unlikely. There was no denying Hitler was on the back foot. It was just a matter of how long it would take to make him topple over.
‘We’ll come back when the war’s over,’ Rosie said. ‘We can go winkle picking like we used to.’
Rosie looked at Kate, who was making a face, and laughed.
‘Somehow, Kate, I don’t think that was something you and your mam used to do!’
Kate shook her head. ‘I think I inherited her dislike of all things that come out of the sea.’
As they started walking along the coastal road towards Seaburn, Rosie realised that they had all come a long way since they had been children living here in this quaint, unspoilt coastal town. Coming here today had been a monumental step forward for Kate, who rarely ventured anywhere other than the walk from the bordello to the Maison Nouvelle and back again. The life she had endured after she had left Whitburn as a child had left its mark – wounds that were reopened whenever she saw one of the nuns on the street, or when they occasionally came into the shop collecting for charity.
Perhaps, Rosie mused, today was as much about facing their ghosts – ghosts it was time to leave behind – as it was a celebration of the town’s civil defence. It was time for the past to stop dragging at their heels so that they could walk freely into a new and exciting future.
A future, Rosie hoped and prayed, that would also include her husband.
The rest of the month for Rosie and her squad passed in a blur of sparkling welds, sweat and a growing obsession with what was happening in the news. The Battle of Monte Cassino finally ended in an Allied victory, but it came at the cost of tens of thousands of casualties on both sides. A large number of Chinese troops invaded northern Burma, the entirety of Crimea came under Soviet control, and the Japanese retreated from Imphal with heavy losses. But it was the news of a number of bombs being dropped on the Continent and, in particular, on key targets in France, that grabbed the women’s attention – it was a sign that the assault on Fortress Europe was about to take place.
Behind closed doors, a report informed those high up in the chain of command that the bodies of the ten missing Americans had been found during the clear-up, or rather the cover-up, of the disastrous Operation Tiger. Knowing for sure that the men had not been captured and that they had died along with the top-secret information to which they’d been privy, meant the planned assault on northern France was back on track.
Meanwhile, the shipyards of Sunderland kept sending ships down the ways. Laing’s cheered the launch of the tanker Empire Salisbury, Crown’s the Empire Nicholas, a tug to be used by Admiralty in Japan, Pickersgill’s another much-needed LCT and Austin’s the collier Rogate, while the Shipbuilding Corporation christened the Empire Tudor.
After Thompson’s launched the cargo liner Empire Dynasty, Dorothy persuaded the women to go on a rare night out to Black’s Regal Theatre to see the dark melodrama The Letter, starring Bette Davis and Herbert Marshall. She also tried to cajole everyone into taking part in some of the ‘Holiday at Home’ events, which included an open-air dance at Barnes Park and a Sunderland Drama Club performance of Danger Point, but the response was lacklustre. Angie gawked at the thought of having to go dancing twice in a week. Artie gave Polly the perfect excuse not to go, and Gloria said what they were all thinking – that for her a holiday at home meant just that: ‘Sitting with my feet up and a nice cuppa in my hands, on my own sofa in my own home.’
Lily and George went to a property sale at the Palatine and purchased a house in Bramwell Road. It was their first real step towards legitimacy. Rosie was over the moon when they asked her to take control of the property since Lily was not, in her own words, ‘landlady material’ and George was too much of a ‘soft touch’.
Helen continued visiting Henrietta – and John – during her weekly visits to Ryhope, just as Dr Eris continued her quest to get Dr Parker to put a ring on her finger. She had decided to take her foot off the accelerator and apply a little reverse psychology to achieve her aim. It had been a bit of a gamble, as it was the opposite of what she really wanted to do, but her instincts told her to ease off and it’d had the desired results. John had become keener to see her and for them to spend whatever free time they had together.
She had been helped by the fact that Dr Parker’s frustrations at the powers that be for continuing to refuse to let him work with medics on the front line had lessened. They had talked about it and he had admitted that his ability to let it go was because of the anticipated invasion of France and the need to have doctors on this side of the Channel. He was also making headway in his research into improvements to prosthetics, which she found boring in the extreme, but she put on a show of rapt interest that must have been convincing as John confessed to her one evening how much he enjoyed being able to chat about it to someone who was genuinely interested. Better that he was sharing his advancements with her than anyone else – particularly Helen Crawford. Claire still needed to work out how to get shot of her. Her intuition told her the answer lay with Miriam’s great-aunty, Miss Henrietta Girling, and she resolved to keep on digging.
At the Elliot household, Agnes was enjoying having a house full of children, especially the twins, as they brought back memories of Joe and Teddy when they had been babies. Thinking about Teddy always made her sad, but she knew that was natural. There were times when her mind played tricks on her and she thought he was still alive, still somewhere in North Africa, and that he would be walking through the front door when the war ended. It was why she understood Dr Billingham and how a part of his brain still refused to accept that his daughter, Mary, was dead.
Bobby was now a permanent fixture at number 34 Tatham Street, and much liked by all those living there. The money he paid Agnes for his board and lodgings was a bonus. Bel enjoyed jibing him about his two admirers, Iris and Audrey, who seemed to find any excuse to pop round when Bobby was back from work and they themselves had finished their shifts at the GPO.
Everyone knew, of course, about the unresolved tension between Bobby and Gloria, but no one interfered, the general consensus being that it was a family matter.
A view shared by everyone, that is, apart from Dorothy.
Chapter Thirty
Friday 2 June
‘I can come with yer t
o see Hope,’ Angie said. ‘Quentin’s not calling until after work tomorrow.’
‘No, there’s no need,’ Dorothy said. She was perched in front of her dressing table, putting on a fresh layer of lipstick. ‘I’m not going to stay long. I’m just nipping round there with Hope’s sweeties and then leaving.’
Angie sat on Dorothy’s bed and watched her in the oval mirror. ‘What’s up? You’ve got a face like a slapped backside.’
Dorothy huffed and turned around to face her friend.
‘I’ve made a decision,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to be a buffer for Gloria and Bobby any more. It’s making me too angry every time I go round there and see Bobby playing the perfect big brother to Hope and all the while practically ignoring Gloria. And Jack having to stay away just because Mr Self-Righteous doesn’t want him there.’
‘But it sounds like Jack wouldn’t be there anyway. He works late just about every evening. Glor says he doesn’t get back until after nine most nights,’ Angie said.
Dorothy stood up and straightened her dress.
‘Well, regardless—’
‘I think Glor will be disappointed,’ Angie said. ‘She’s always saying how Hope loves it when you and Bobby go round. Says yer both have her running around the flat, screaming with laughter. Playing hide-’n-seek. Gives her a night off ’n a chance to cook something half decent while yer both keep Hope entertained.’
Angie was surprised when Dorothy didn’t bat back a reply but just stood up.
‘You’re not going to the Ritz dressed like that, are you?’ Dorothy looked at Angie, who had swapped her overalls for an old summer dress.
‘I thought we might have a night off,’ Angie said tentatively.
‘No chance,’ said Dorothy. ‘We’re not old maids yet.’ She walked out of the room. ‘I won’t be long, so you better be ready to go when I get back.’
Dorothy thought she heard Angie sigh loudly, but she ignored it, grabbed her handbag and gas mask, then hurried out of the flat, down the stairs and out the front door.
It took her all of three minutes before she was outside the entrance to Gloria’s flat. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the front door. Bobby answered as usual, opening it wide and welcoming her in with the sweep of an arm.
‘I won’t be staying tonight, Bobby,’ Dorothy said, looking behind him to see Hope pulling herself up from the clippy mat.
‘Dorrie!’ It was her pet name for Dorothy. Three syllables were still rather a mouthful.
Dorothy pulled out a bag of sweets from her handbag.
‘Hi, gorgeous girl, I wonder who these are for?’ She pulled a puzzled expression.
Hope giggled and stabbed a finger to her chest.
‘Me! Me! Me!’ she answered.
Dorothy smiled and handed the bag to Hope, who had a quick nose at the contents before looking back up at her godmother. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Hope offered the bag up to Dorothy and then to Bobby. They shook their heads, both re-enacting the scene they played every week.
‘Mammy! Mammy!’ Hope ran into the kitchen. ‘Sweeetieees.’
‘I’m not stopping,’ Dorothy said, smoothing down her skirt and giving Bobby what she hoped was her most scornful of looks. ‘I’ve just popped by to give Hope her weekly hit of sugar.’
‘What? Yer not staying?’ Gloria asked, coming out of the kitchen with a twist of toffee in her hand.
‘Dorrie play!’ Hope demanded, going over and grabbing Dorothy’s hand. She started tugging her towards her dollies.
‘Ah, honey pie, Dorrie can’t – not tonight,’ Dorothy said apologetically, cupping her god-daughter’s cherubic face in her hands and kissing the top of her head.
Hope pulled a sad face.
‘You off out tonight?’ Gloria asked.
‘I am, Glor,’ Dorothy said, ‘but that’s not the reason I’m not staying.’
‘Why’s that?’ Gloria was perplexed as well as disappointed.
‘I’ve decided that I’m not going to be a “buffer” any more,’ Dorothy said, her voice chirpy, but her face betraying her tone. She was staring at Bobby. ‘For starters, I’m too angry.’ Again, the chirpy voice. She looked at Hope and smiled. She didn’t want her god-daughter to pick up on any kind of upset or anger. She watched as Bobby played along with the charade and smiled down at his little sister.
‘So, I thought it best off to skip tonight,’ Dorothy explained, ‘but I didn’t want my little chickpea to miss out on her sweeties.’ She again put on a smile for Hope, who seemed unsure about the faux-jolly behaviour of her godmother and her big brother.
Bobby tried his hardest not to look crestfallen, as did Gloria.
‘Oh, all right,’ Gloria said. ‘See yer tomorrow at work then.’
Dorothy again manufactured a smile.
‘Yes, see you tomorrow,’ she said, directing her words at Gloria and ignoring Bobby.
As she turned and left the flat, her face fell. She hurried up the stairs so neither Gloria nor Bobby could see her true feelings. Why did she feel so awful? Bloody Bobby. It was all his fault. They could all be having a really lovely time if only he’d make it up with his mam.
As she walked back to her own flat, her pace naturally slowed as she imagined what it would be like if Bobby did as she wished and sorted out his differences with Gloria. She was in no doubt they would have a lovely time – just the thought of it lifted her spirits. She crossed the road. Just as the thought of it also left her feeling conflicted. Would it be right to enjoy Bobby’s company when she and Toby were courting? Especially as she was on the cusp of becoming Toby’s fiancée. Were her feelings of anger towards Bobby masking something more?
Reaching the steps up to her flat, Dorothy shook her head. She was overthinking the whole situation, getting confused because she was spending so much time with Bobby. She saw him nearly every day – on the ferry in the morning, and they worked within spitting distance of each other at the yard. That was besides being with him and Hope every Friday.
Well, at least that had now been knocked on the head.
Letting herself into the main hallway, Dorothy tried to gee herself up in anticipation of a night at the Ritz with Angie. Trudging to the top of the stairs, she sighed. It was no good. She still felt as flat as a pancake.
‘So,’ Henrietta asked once Helen had sat down and they were both taking sips of their fake Russian vodka, ‘how is dear John?’ A mischievous smile played on her lips.
Helen eyed her grandmother. She really was much more astute than anyone would think. ‘He’s fine, Grandmama.’
‘It would be good to meet him one day,’ Henrietta said, her voice hopeful.
‘It would,’ Helen said. ‘But not at the moment. We still have to keep our little secret, don’t we?’ she said. She looked at Henrietta, who had started to fuss about with her skirt, making sure it was in a perfect swirl around her chair.
‘Do you remember what our secret is?’ Helen asked tentatively. It was a question she always asked when she visited as a way of reminding her grandmother that their real relationship must be kept strictly confidential.
‘Yes, yes, my dear, I remember,’ she said.
Helen raised her eyebrows, showing she wanted more information.
‘I can’t let anyone know who I really am,’ Henrietta said off pat, sitting up straight and checking that both jade earrings were still there; it was another of her grandmother’s quirks. ‘Or who I am to you.’
She paused.
‘You know, darling, I’ve been doing the same for your mama for years – I’m well versed in the art of deception.’ She let out a tinkle of laughter.
Helen forced a smile. How she hated to be compared to her mother in any shape or form.
‘Good,’ she said simply, pulling out her copy of Persuasion from her handbag and opening it up.
Henrietta placed her pale, blue-veined hands elegantly on top of her own copy of the Jane Austen classic. Helen knew
this meant her grandmother was in the mood to chat rather than read, which suited her fine; she always found it hard to concentrate after she’d met with John.
‘Did you know that it was George Thomas Hine who designed this asylum – this one as well as several others in the country?’
Helen shook her head.
‘And it was built over the first five years of the 1890s. It is a prime example of what is known as a compact arrow echelon plan.’ Henrietta recited the words as though reading them from a book. ‘But what is really interesting is that in his time Mr Hine was a progressive. He wanted his designs to help the patients, so, in the case of this particular asylum, he built it on a hill so that those inside could see life beyond their present – to see hope beyond the walls behind which they were incarcerated.’
‘That’s really fascinating. This Mr Hine sounds like he was a good man.’ Helen looked at her grandmother, thinking how the asylum had become Henrietta’s world.
‘Do you think you might like to leave this place sometime in the future?’ she probed tentatively. It was something she had wanted to put to her grandmother for a while.
Helen watched as Henrietta’s face changed and became sombre. She took a sip of water and placed it carefully back on the coaster. She did not like the tumbler to have any contact with the tabletop.
‘No, my dear,’ Henrietta said.
Helen saw a terrible sadness in her grandmother’s big brown eyes. She had never seen her look so sad, or so serious.
‘Can I ask why not?’ Helen enquired, leaning forward a little, concentrating on her grandma’s very pretty, albeit heavily made-up face.
‘I have to stay here. It’s my punishment,’ Henrietta said simply.
‘Punishment for what?’ Helen asked, perturbed.
Suddenly the bell rang out for the end of visiting hours, making Helen jump.
