by Ellie Dean
And yet he knew, absolutely, that this was a new beginning. It wouldn’t be easy for either of them, and they had a great deal to talk over before things could get back to how they’d once been. But it was a start, and his whole being rejoiced in it.
Peggy was furious with Jim, for he’d been gone all day, had missed visiting Anne, and now it was almost midnight. She’d worked herself up to give him a very big piece of her mind, but when he finally came into the kitchen and she saw the blackened eyes, the split lip and bruised chin, her anger turned to horror.
‘What on earth happened?’ she gasped.
He stood before her with a stupid grin on that battered face, and answered her by picking her up and swinging her round. ‘I’ve made peace with Frank,’ he said joyfully as he finally set her back on her feet. ‘We had a terrible fight, so we did, but it cleared the air, and we’ve spent hours just talking.’ His eyes gleamed with unshed tears. ‘I’ve got me brother back, Peg,’ he said hoarsely.
Peggy held him to her heart, so glad the feud was over and that her Jim was safe home and very nearly all in one piece. She bathed his face, cleaned up the blood and put a cold compress over his eyes as he excitedly told her what had happened.
‘But there’s even more good news, Peg. Brendon’s commanding officer has given him a Blighty posting.’
‘Frank will be very relieved to have him back on that boat,’ she replied happily. ‘I know how difficult he’s found it with only old Pat and Tom . . .’
‘No, me darlin’ girl, he’ll not be living down here.’ He drew Peggy onto his lap and held her close. ‘He’s to be a tug pilot on the Thames estuary, and although it’s not the safest place to be, it’s better than having to sweep up mines in the middle of the Atlantic.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Peggy doubtfully.
‘He’s got that motorbike now, and has promised to come home whenever he can. You’ve no idea how relieved Frank and Pauline are.’ He nuzzled her neck and gave her a squeeze. ‘I love you, Peggy Reilly, and now I’ve made me peace with Frank, I’m the most contented man in England.’
Peggy snuggled against him, feeling complete and safe in his arms, loving him more than ever.
A week had passed since that night, and this morning he was trying her patience to the very limit.
‘I asked you to clear all this out,’ she said, flinging open his side of the wardrobe to reveal a collection of old suits and jackets hanging above a jumble of shoes, sweaters and dubious underwear which had been stuffed on the bottom shelf. ‘You don’t wear half of it, and the WVS could do with it down at the Town Hall.’
Jim was perched on the end of the bed, fiddling with an old fishing reel he’d found behind the chest of drawers. ‘I’ll sort it all in a minute,’ he muttered.
Peggy had reached breaking point. She snatched the reel out of his hand and threw it out of the bedroom door and into the hall, where it hit the floor with a clatter and rolled out of sight.
He looked at her, his eyes wide with surprise. ‘What did you go and do that for?’
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘Because I need you to concentrate, Jim Reilly,’ she said crossly. ‘Anne will be here tomorrow and I have to get this room straight. Will you please sort through this lot and take what you want to keep up to the front bedroom so I can get on?’
Jim eyed her warily as he got up from the bed. ‘I’ll be taking it all then,’ he said.
‘Oh, no, you won’t,’ she muttered. She reached into the wardrobe and started throwing out sweaters, cardigans, crumpled shirts, old shoes, slippers and vests. She noted that he kept retrieving things from the growing pile but said nothing.
When she’d finished clearing the wardrobe, she turned her attention to the large stack of things Jim had placed on the bed. ‘You don’t want to keep these,’ she said, grabbing several shirts. ‘The collars and cuffs have been turned so many times, they’re falling to bits.’ Despite his protests, she threw them back onto the reject pile, along with the slippers that were falling apart and the shoe which seemed to have no mate.
‘These trousers no longer fit – that jacket makes you look like a bookie’s runner, and I’ve always hated it – the vests are fit only for cleaning rags, and this sweater has got more holes in it than my colander.’
‘Not the sweater,’ he said, hastily retrieving it. ‘It’s me favourite.’
She looked at him, eyes sparking with fury. ‘I’ll not have you seen in that,’ she stormed. ‘It’s fit only to be unravelled and made into something useful.’
He shoved the sweater behind his back and edged towards the door. ‘I think I can hear Da calling me,’ he muttered, and then fled.
‘And don’t forget I want that cot and chair down here, Jim Reilly,’ she shouted after him. ‘I’ll not ask again.’
There was no reply and Peggy sank onto the bed with a groan of frustration. Why did men have to be so damned useless – and why cling to a bit of old clothing they hadn’t seen in years, let alone worn? On top of all that, they took their blasted time to do anything she asked them to do, and if she dared ask more than once she was accused of nagging.
Feeling rather better after this silent rant, she took a deep breath and set aside the few pieces that were worth keeping before gathering up nearly everything else he’d left on the bed and adding it to the pile on the floor. Some of it, like the sweaters, could be used again. The rest would either be donated to the WVS, committed to Ron’s bonfire, or kept as cleaning rags.
Peggy finally sorted through everything and, with a neat parcel made up for the WVS, and a bag of rags to go under the sink in the basement, she gathered up the sweaters and put them next to Mrs Finch’s knitting bag for her to unravel at her leisure. Returning to her bedroom, she took the last of their things upstairs and then set to work getting the room ready for Anne and Rose.
It would be lovely to have Anne home again but, because her leg would still be in plaster, it was more practical to have her and Rose downstairs. Peggy was quite looking forward to sleeping in the big front room upstairs. It would be like moving house in a way, but she knew it would feel strange after so many years of living downstairs and having her own bed.
Peggy was humming to herself as she polished and dusted and put fresh linen on the big bed she and Jim had slept in all their married life. She was still humming as she went upstairs to collect the last of Anne’s bits and pieces, and then saw that the cot was still there, along with the nursing chair she’d managed to find in a second-hand shop. Stomping back down the stairs she went fuming into the kitchen.
Jim and Ron had left dirty pans in the sink, and plates, cups and bowls were strewn across the table. Harvey was licking the plates while the two men were poking about in her larder – no doubt looking for something else to eat. Peggy’s patience ran out and she snapped for the second time that day.
‘I want the cot and the chair downstairs within the next five minutes,’ she ordered briskly. ‘When you’ve done that, you can clean up this mess, chop more wood for the range and make a start on the vegetables for tea.’
‘Now, darlin’ girl, there’s no need to get all—’
‘Don’t you darlin’ girl me, Jim Reilly,’ she said furiously. ‘Just do as I ask for once. The pair of you are driving me round the bend.’
Jim and Ron stared at her in amazement and Peggy would have left it at that if she hadn’t noticed the corners of Ron’s lips twitch. ‘It’s not funny, Ron, and if you laugh, I won’t be responsible for my actions.’
Before he could reply, she’d turned away and headed for the sanctuary of her bedroom, rather shaken by the fury she’d unleashed – but feeling quite justified, and somehow better for it. She sank onto the freshly made bed and listened as the men tramped upstairs. At least her jag of bad temper had achieved something this morning.
A short while later she had everything done to her satisfaction, and felt in a much happier mood. The room looked lovely and welcoming, with pretty cur
tains hiding the blackouts, Anne’s brushes and scent bottles beside the photograph of Martin on the dressing table, and the cot and chair placed just so. She added a cushion to the chair, straightened the rug and closed the door. All she had to do now was make the bed upstairs and tidy everything away.
She stepped into the sunlit room to find Julie had already made a start on the bed. ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said, hurrying across the room.
‘I want to help,’ Julie replied, smoothing the sheet over the mattress. ‘You’ve been working hard all day, and by the sound of it you’re getting tired.’
Peggy reddened as she helped tuck in the sheet. ‘Oh, that,’ she blustered. ‘Don’t mind me, Julie. Jim and Ron need to be reminded now and again that I’m neither a doormat nor a workhorse, and that my patience has limits – otherwise I’d never get anything done around here.’
‘Me mum was the same,’ said Julie. ‘She was the sweetest person, but Dad and me brothers could wind her up something rotten, and when she let loose, they could probably hear her all the way from Stepney to Watford.’ She smiled fondly. ‘She was only a skinny little thing, but she scared the living daylights out of all of us when she really got going.’
They worked in companionable silence for a moment as a pigeon cooed from the windowsill and two gulls squabbled on a nearby lamp post. ‘William seems to be coming along nicely,’ said Peggy as she quickly hung the clothes in the wardrobe and filled the drawers with underwear and sweaters. ‘What does Dr Michael say?’
Julie smiled as she drew the eiderdown over the blankets. ‘He’s very pleased with him. William’s heart is beating more steadily, and I’ve noticed he’s eating better as well.’
‘His little feet and hands certainly feel warmer now,’ said Peggy as she laid out the glass dressing-table set, which consisted of a bowl for powder, a tray, a perfume bottle, a dish for hairpins, and two candlesticks. ‘All in all, you wouldn’t know there was anything wrong with him, would you?’
Julie shook her head and finished plumping up the pillows. ‘Michael warned me that once he starts crawling he might get a bit breathless, but I’m not to fuss, because William will rest quite naturally when he gets too tired.’
‘Easy for him to tell you not to fuss,’ Peggy replied. ‘I find I’m looking at him every five minutes to make sure he’s all right – it must be even worse for you.’
‘It’s hard to go to work and leave him,’ Julie admitted, ‘but at least I know he’s safe with you and Mrs Finch.’
Peggy caught something in Julie’s expression that she’d noticed a few times over the past couple of weeks. It had worried her then, and it concerned her now. ‘Everything going smoothly at the surgery?’ she asked casually.
Julie let her short brown hair swing over her face as she smoothed the already neat eiderdown. ‘I’m out on me rounds most of the time,’ she replied. ‘So what happens at the surgery doesn’t really involve me.’
Peggy moved across the room and touched her arm. ‘But something’s bothering you,’ she said quietly. ‘What is it, Julie?’
‘Nothing much, not really,’ Julie said hesitantly. She chewed her lip, then her words came out in a rush. ‘I might be working fewer hours soon, and I’m worried I won’t be able to earn enough to look after William properly.’
Peggy sank onto the bed and pulled Julie down beside her. ‘I think you’d better tell me what’s been going on,’ she said solemnly. As Julie told her about Eunice’s meddling, the old doctor’s ultimatum, and her own agreement to share the load with another district nurse, Peggy realised the poor girl was between the devil and the deep. ‘How are things between you and Michael?’
Julie shook her head. ‘There’s never been anything between us – not in the way Eunice and his father seem to think, anyway. But in the last couple of weeks he’s become a bit cool and distant, keeping things very much on a professional basis. He doesn’t come and have morning tea with me any more, or try to teach me the laws of rugby – in fact he seems to be avoiding me altogether.’
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘It doesn’t sound a very happy ship.’
‘Better an unhappy ship than no ship at all,’ said Julie firmly. ‘I could get a job at the hospital, but I love being a district nurse and don’t want to let me patients down. Besides, I have to think of William. Michael is his doctor and deeply involved in his care. I can’t risk alienating him any further by taking umbrage and leaving.’
‘It sounds to me as though you and Michael need to clear the air,’ said Peggy. ‘Someone’s obviously been saying things to him to make him the way he is.’
Julie shook her head. ‘If he can be swayed so easily, then his friendship doesn’t amount to much,’ she said flatly. ‘I don’t feel I have to justify meself, and as long as he’s caring for William, I’m prepared to leave things as they are.’
Peggy could tell that, despite her brave words, Julie had been hurt by Michael’s sudden coolness. ‘These things often have a way of working themselves out,’ she murmured.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Julie got to her feet. ‘It’s a storm in a teacup, as me dad used to say, and his advice was to keep me head down, get on with things and wait for it to blow itself out.’ She shot Peggy a brave grin. ‘And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
‘Good for you.’ Peggy returned her smile as they smoothed the bedcovers, but her thoughts were in a whirl. Poor Julie had enough to contend with without trouble at work, and if Michael was that weak, then he wasn’t the man she’d thought. But Eunice was clever and manipulative, and she’d clearly done her best to be rid of Julie by going to the old man with her tale-telling. It struck Peggy that Eunice and Michael deserved one another, but it made her very angry to think that Julie had been made a scapegoat and might have to pay a high price in this war of attrition.
Chapter Seventeen
THERE HAD BEEN heavy raids throughout April, with London, Merseyside, Belfast and Portsmouth being the main targets. In early May, Cliffehaven had had its own fair share of excitement when an enemy bomber had collided with one of its fighters, and they’d crashed into the remains of the old asylum.
The fires had spread rapidly into the surrounding trees and threatened the rows of houses which lined the bottom of the hill, and Kath and her mother had spent a very worrying night on camp beds in Peggy’s dining room, wondering if they would have a home to go back to.
Rita and her colleagues had eventually put it out and the houses had been saved, but it was not to be the last fire they attended, for a series of tip-and-run raids had caused a fair bit of damage on the industrial estate to the north of the town, and a gas explosion had ripped through a line of cottages only two streets down from Beach View Terrace.
Nonetheless Ron was a very contented man as he strode across the hills with Harvey racing before him. Lord Cliffe was away on his twice yearly visit to the House of Lords and would no doubt still be sleeping off an expensive dinner at his London club. Ron had spent the best part of the night out here, and the deep inside pockets of his poacher’s coat were heavy with three fat ducks, a brace of quail, and a cock pheasant which had virtually walked into his trap as he’d lain in wait in the long grass. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing the old man wouldn’t even notice they’d gone, and with no gamekeeper looking after the estate now, it was just begging to be raided.
Ron’s contentment went deeper than pulling one over on Lord Cliffe, for his sons were making their peace, sadly accepting that they couldn’t regain those lost years, but wise enough to realise this new beginning could be far more enriching. Brendon was away in London on the tugs, and came down to see everyone when time allowed, and Pauline and Frank were slowly and painfully coming to terms with their terrible loss. Anne was at home, and making much better progress now she could be with little Rose, and Martin had even managed to stay for a few days before he’d been sent off to take charge in the setting up of another airfield further west.
The only fly in Ron
’s ointment was the fact that he’d been refused a posting to the gun emplacements on the seafront, or even here on the cliffs. It seemed he was regarded as too old by the military, and although he’d wanted initially to vent his rage on the enemy for the death and destruction they’d caused, not only to his town, but to his beloved family, time and common sense had cooled his thirst for revenge.
The other niggle was Rosie Braithwaite, who still kept him at arm’s length and refused to discuss whatever it was that had happened between her and Eileen Harris. Peggy hadn’t been forthcoming either, and it was frustrating. He’d considered going to see this Eileen woman, but had changed his mind when he realised it would probably only stir things up for Rosie, who, no doubt, wouldn’t appreciate his meddling. But long-kept secrets had a habit of rising to the surface when things were stirred up, and although it might take a long time to get to the truth, he didn’t doubt for a minute that it would all come clear sooner or later.
He shrugged off these minor inconveniences and hitched his gas-mask box over his shoulder, the long poacher’s coat flapping round his ankles as the wind blew in from the sea. Harvey was on the scent of something, his nose to the ground, tail windmilling as he raced back and forth, and Ron left him to it. Harvey had spent far too many hours in the house watching over those wains lately and needed the exercise.
It was very early morning, with the sun just breaching the horizon, pearling the sky and the tendrils of mist that still clung to the trees and veiled the far hills. It promised to be a lovely May day, and Ron breathed deeply of the clean air which held the tang of salt and the almost sensuous smell of damp earth, lush grasses and the ripening of spring. The abandoned orchard was a beautiful sight now that the trees were covered in blossom and the bluebells and crocuses formed a carpet beneath them, and he knew that later in the year he’d be picking the sour little apples for cider and the elderberries for wine.
