by Ellie Dean
Coming back down minutes later she heard the rap of the front door knocker and stumbled on the loose stair carpet in her hurry to answer it. She grabbed the banister and stood for a moment to quell the rush of fear that made her heart pound. She could have gone from top to bottom, and with the house deserted . . . It wasn’t something she wanted to contemplate.
‘Damn thing,’ she muttered as she plodded on. ‘I’ve told Jim time and again to fix it – but will he listen? Men!’
The rap came again, more commanding and insistent. ‘All right, all right, I’m coming, for goodness’ sake,’ she shouted as she reached the hall and wrenched the door open.
Her snooty sister Doris was standing on the doorstep, her expression stony beneath the broad brim of her white hat, and Peggy was sorely tempted to slam the door in her face and run for the hills. But Peggy was made of sterner stuff and she’d known this moment would come sooner or later. ‘I wondered when you’d turn up,’ she muttered.
Doris was resplendent in a beautifully cut linen dress, high-heeled two-tone shoes and a matching handbag. Gold jewellery glistened at her neck and wrist and in her ears, and it was obvious she’d just been to the hairdresser’s. Her make-up was flawless as usual, and her nails freshly manicured. For a woman fast approaching her fiftieth birthday, she looked very well indeed, but then Doris was a pampered wife who lived in a big house in Havelock Gardens with a girl to do the rough work and a husband with an open wallet.
She stepped into Peggy’s hall, her silence eloquent as her gaze flitted over the swell beneath Peggy’s wrap-round apron.
Peggy saw that look and steeled herself. Doris had a way of making her feel inferior, but today, she vowed, she would not let her get under her skin. ‘We’ve run out of storage space, so the dining room’s a bit of a glory hole at the moment,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to put up with sitting in the kitchen.’
‘I have no wish to sit in your kitchen,’ Doris replied haughtily. ‘What I have come to discuss can be said here without your dubious household listening in.’
Peggy dug her hands into her apron pockets. ‘Everyone’s out, so just say your piece, Doris, and get it over with.’
Doris drew herself up to her full height and looked down her patrician nose. ‘I think it’s disgraceful that a woman of your age should parade herself about in that condition,’ she said coldly. ‘It’s unseemly and has caused me no end of embarrassment.’
Peggy adopted the same tone. ‘Why should it embarrass you? You’re not the one who’s pregnant.’
‘I should think not,’ Doris snorted. ‘The idea is appalling.’
Peggy held her gaze. ‘Appalling? How can something so natural be appalling?’
‘It’s not decent to be carrying on with Jim at your age,’ Doris muttered.
Peggy laughed. ‘What Jim and I do in the privacy of our bedroom is none of your business, Doris.’ She saw the look of distaste on her older sister’s face and couldn’t resist taunting her. ‘Jim’s a lusty man, and we enjoy a good cuddle.’
Doris actually shuddered. ‘It’s disgusting,’ she hissed. ‘Edward and I gave up that sort of behaviour years ago.’
‘No wonder poor old Ted looks so miserable all the time,’ Peggy retorted.
She waved Peggy’s words away with a sweep of her manicured hand. ‘So, what are you going to do about this?’
Peggy frowned. ‘I’m going to give birth to it, what else do you expect?’
‘Of course you are,’ Doris said sharply. ‘What I mean is, are you going to continue flaunting yourself around Cliffehaven, or will you do the decent thing and stay at home until it’s born?’
‘I’ve got too many commitments to be shut away like a nun,’ replied Peggy firmly as she opened the front door. ‘Now, if you’ve quite finished, I have better things to do than stand here being talked at by you.’
‘I have spoken to my friend Lady Chalmondley, and she agrees with me that it might be better if you didn’t continue with your work at the WVS centre until after you’ve had it.’
Peggy stared back at her in amazement. ‘Your Lady Chalmondley might think she’s in charge, but she’s just a small cog in a very big wheel. I’ll carry on until Head Office tells me otherwise.’
Doris sniffed and stepped out of the door. ‘You will live to regret being so rebellious, Margaret,’ she said sternly. ‘One has to be careful what one does in such a small town, and I do not appreciate you bringing my family into ill-repute.’
Peggy had had enough. ‘Do you know what, Doris? I don’t care. Go home and put your own house in order before you come round here sticking your oar in.’ She took a step towards her. ‘And while you’re at it, give Ted some attention for a change instead of using him as your private bank. A man needs his comforts, Doris, and if he doesn’t get them at home, he’ll look elsewhere.’
‘How dare you?’ Doris hissed. ‘Edward is an honourable man who wouldn’t dream—’
‘Goodbye, Doris.’ Peggy slammed the door and immediately regretted her outburst. It had been unkind to say those things about poor old Ted. He was a nice, rather boring man who’d been middle-aged before he’d reached thirty, and probably hadn’t got the wit or the inclination to seek that sort of comfort at home, let alone elsewhere. But if the boot had been on the other foot, Doris wouldn’t have hesitated to say such things, and Peggy was almost able to justify her instant of nastiness.
‘Oh, well,’ she sighed. ‘Perhaps after today she’ll cut me off completely and leave me in peace.’ But as she made the long trek back to the bathroom yet again, she knew she wouldn’t. Doris delighted in her one-upmanship, and simply couldn’t resist flaunting her money and so-called status every time she came round. Rich, she might be, and well connected with all those seats on charity commissions run by snooty women like Lady Chalmondley, but she had nothing else to occupy her. There were no grandchildren to spoil, her son had left home to work for some government office, and Ted was either immersed in his work as manager of the big Home and Colonial Stores in the High Street, or out on the golf course. Peggy suspected that, beneath all that powder and paint, Doris was an unhappy and unfulfilled woman and, despite everything, she couldn’t help feeling rather sorry for her.
Rosie had packed a picnic basket and, once she’d closed the pub for the afternoon, she and Ron had tramped up the hill with Harvey to sit on the headland and enjoy the lovely weather.
They had spread out the moth-eaten tartan blanket and eaten well, for there were paste sandwiches, tomatoes from Ron’s garden, a couple of sausages, a bit of cheese, some crackers and a handful of ripe plums they’d picked from Lord Cliffe’s abandoned fruit trees on the way up here. Bottles of beer washed it all down delightfully, and now they were leaning back on the blanket, sated and at ease while Harvey dashed about chasing things in the long grass.
‘It’s lovely up here,’ she murmured, taking in the bleached blue of the sky and the way the sun glittered on the sea. ‘I don’t know why I’ve never come before.’
‘You’ve been too busy running that pub,’ he said round the stem of his pipe. ‘Besides,’ he added with a smile, ‘those high heels you usually wear aren’t exactly the best footwear for hiking.’
She laughed and wriggled her feet in the sand-shoes Ron had bought her that morning from the little shop that still stocked buckets and spades and anything else one might need for a day at the seaside. Made of white canvas and rubber, they laced up to the ankle and were the sort of thing children wore on the beach and in the rock pools. They were a far cry from the glamorous shoes she usually wore.
‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ she replied. ‘But although they’re hardly the height of fashion and not terribly flattering to a girl’s legs, they are extremely comfortable.’
‘Your legs look good in everything,’ he said, admiring them stretched out on the rug beside him. Rosie was wearing white shorts, a checked shirt, sunglasses and a big sun hat. With the sun warming her skin to a golden tan, and the soft
breeze ruffling her hair, she looked young, beautiful and carefree.
He gazed down past his own baggy khaki shorts to the sturdy knees that stuck out above long brown socks and boots. He’d seen worse during the summers before the war, when the tourists came and flaunted their skinny white bodies to all and sundry, their legs like bits of celery sticking out from under their shorts.
Rosie leaned back on her elbows and watched Harvey flop panting in the shade of vibrantly yellow gorse bush. ‘I wish I had a dog,’ she murmured. ‘They’re good company, aren’t they?’
‘I’ll get you one, if you want. There’s always pups needing good homes.’
She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to take one on. I don’t have time to exercise it, not with the pub and everything – and I’d want a big dog, not one of those tiny yapping things.’
He stretched out beside her and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes to shield them from the sun. ‘What made you take on the pub in the first place? It’s unusual for a single woman to get a licence.’
She rolled onto her stomach and began to pluck at a loose thread in the blanket. ‘James and I took over his parents’ pub in Chippenham when they decided to move up to Scotland and open a small hotel. I was given the licence to run it on my own after he’d been admitted to the asylum, but it wasn’t the same.’
She gave a little sigh. ‘Too many memories, I suppose – lost dreams, and plans that would never be realised. But I was still young, only in my thirties, and knew I didn’t want to give up the life – it was something I was good at, and enjoyed. So when someone made me a more than fair offer on the place I came down here and was lucky enough to find the Anchor for sale.’
‘But why here, when you could have had the pick of places?’
‘I used to spend my childhood holidays here and thought it would be nice to live by the sea for a change.’
His admiration grew. Rosie was a tough wee woman, and no mistake – it was little wonder that he loved her. ‘That was a brave thing to do when you were still so young. It couldn’t have been easy, with no family or friends to support you.’
‘My dad died in the last war, but Mum helped a bit when I first came down. She’s been crippled with arthritis for years, and I see her when I can, but it’s difficult because she’s had to move in with my brother’s family along the coast, and I don’t really get on with them.’
‘I didn’t realise you had a brother,’ he said, looking at her from beneath his hat brim.
She rolled back over and sat up, hugging her knees, her expressive face hidden by the dark glasses and dipping hat. ‘We aren’t close and he rarely bothers to call in unless he’s after something,’ she replied flatly. ‘It’s best I keep him at arm’s length, anyway. He’s always been the black sheep of the family, and a liability for someone in my line of business.’
Ron sat up abruptly and pushed his hat back so he could see her properly. ‘Have I ever met him?’ he asked quietly.
She lit a cigarette and blew smoke into the warm, still air, her gaze fixed to the panorama of sea and cliff spread before them. ‘Once or twice.’
Ron’s suspicions were roused. Surely it couldn’t possibly be true, not his Rosie linked to that particular worm? He dreaded asking the question that rang in his head – dreaded what the answer might be – but he had to know. ‘What’s his name, Rosie?’
She remained silent for a long while and then looked at her watch. ‘I think you already know, Ron, and I’ve said enough. It’s time we were getting back.’ She reached for the hamper.
Ron stilled her by taking her hands. ‘Rosie, darlin’ girl, there’s no shame in it, and although I’ve never been one to hide my abhorrence for that man, I want you to know that I would never let it come between you and me.’
She sank back onto her heels and hung her head. ‘But I am ashamed, Ron,’ she murmured. ‘He’s done some terrible, wicked things in the past, and as far as I know, is still up to no good.’
‘You’re not responsible for your brother, Rosie,’ he said urgently. ‘You’re a fine, respectable, beautiful woman and should hold your head up with pride.’
She finally looked back at him, her lovely smile tremulous as she kissed his cheek. ‘I do love you, Ron,’ she murmured. ‘And thanks for being so understanding. Having Tommy Findlay as a brother has never been easy, but I feel I can cope with anything now I have you.’
Julie had dashed straight to the hospital when she’d finished her round and, although she was sticky and uncomfortable in this heat after cycling all over town, she didn’t want to waste time going back to Beach View to wash and change out of her uniform.
The ward was hushed as usual as she pushed through the double doors, but she’d got to know the nurses very well over the past three weeks, and they greeted her with friendly smiles. ‘How’s he doing today?’ she asked.
Sister Dora Black grinned as she looked up from her patients’ notes. ‘He’s holding his own, and his temperature’s almost back to normal. Why don’t you go and sit down, and I’ll get one of the nurses to make you a cup of tea?’
‘That would be lovely,’ Julie sighed. ‘You’re ever so kind, Dora.’
‘We look after our own in here,’ Dora said softly. ‘Go and sit before you fall down. You look all in.’
‘It’s been a busy day, and I was up half the night delivering twins.’
‘In that case you deserve a biscuit to go with that tea,’ she said before bustling away.
Julie sank into the chair beside William’s cot. His tiny hand lay like a budding water-lily on the white blanket, and she gently placed her finger in the palm, feeling his fingers curl round it as if he knew it gave her comfort.
The oxygen tent had been removed at the beginning of the week, but there was still a drip feed going into his arm which supplied the drugs necessary for his recovery, and the heart monitoring machine continued to beep reassuringly. He’d lost weight since being in here, the glow of health dimmed by the fever he’d fought so courageously, but the chart at the end of the cot showed he was indeed holding his own, and for the first time in weeks, Julie began to believe he would get through this.
She always felt a bit useless, just sitting here hour after hour while the other nurses tended their small patients, for there was nothing much she could do. But she was grateful they turned a blind eye to her coming in outside visiting hours and staying for as long as she wanted.
‘Here’s the tea I promised,’ murmured Dora. ‘And I managed to pinch a couple of custard creams from the packet Nurse Giddings hides in the cupboard.’ She shot a glance at the overweight nurse. ‘Think of it as saving her another few inches,’ she added with a gleam of humour in her eyes.
Julie smiled back at her and guiltily ate the biscuits, savouring their creamy sweetness. She hadn’t had a custard cream since the outbreak of war, and she wondered fleetingly where on earth Nurse Giddings had managed to buy them.
The bell for visiting time echoed through the hospital and the doors opened to admit a stream of parents and grandparents into the ward. Julie watched them pour in and returned their greetings, for over the weeks she’d come to know most of them, and the atmosphere in the ward, although tense, had a family feel about it.
She was about to turn her attention back to William when she saw Peggy come through the doors and waddle towards her. Her expression was businesslike, and there was no warm smile. Julie was at once alert.
‘What’s the matter, Peggy?’ she asked as she gave up her chair.
‘You’re not going to believe it,’ she panted as she settled her gas-mask box and handbag on her lap. ‘Let me get my breath back, and I’ll tell you.’
‘I hope you didn’t walk all the way here,’ said Julie sternly. ‘You know what the doctor said about overdoing things.’
‘Don’t fuss. Alf the butcher gave me a lift in his truck,’ Peggy replied impatiently.
Julie waited anxiously for her to get her breath back, but her alarm wasn’t e
ased by Peggy suddenly gripping her hand.
‘Now I don’t want you to get upset, Julie,’ Peggy said quietly, ‘but something happened today, and I wanted to warn you so it wouldn’t come as too much of a shock.’
‘Peggy, you’re frightening me. I have no idea what you’re on about. It’s not the baby, is it?’
‘Nothing like that,’ Peggy said dismissively. She gripped harder on Julie’s fingers. ‘Listen, I haven’t got much time and they’ll be here any minute . . .’ Her voice faded into silence as her gaze was drawn to the opening doors and three people who hovered there.
Julie followed her gaze and felt the world stop spinning as she watched the man separate from the middle-aged couple, and navigate his awkward way down the ward on crutches. His left leg had been amputated above the knee, his face was lined and much older than she remembered, and there were streaks of grey in his brown hair – but she would have recognised him anywhere.
She stood frozen to the spot as his dark gaze held her. ‘Bill?’ she gasped through her fingers. ‘Bill, is it really you?’
His smile was warm and slightly mocking as he grabbed a spare chair and sank into it. ‘Aye, lass,’ he murmured, ‘it’s me reet enough, though bits of me are still buried somewhere in North Africa.’
Julie didn’t know what to say. She was still in shock.
He laid the crutches on the floor and leaned towards the cot. ‘And this must be William,’ he sighed. ‘Eee, lad, I’ve waited a long while to see thee.’ He reached out a broad hand and placed the tip of a finger in William’s palm as his eyes filled with tears. ‘I can see Franny in him,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Yes,’ she managed. ‘He has her smile too.’
There was a long moment of silence, and Peggy struggled out of the chair. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she murmured, and hurried off before anyone could reply.
Bill looked up at Julie and reached for her hand. ‘Sit down, lass, afore ye drop.’
‘It’s such a shock seeing you,’ she said as she plumped down into the chair Peggy had just vacated. ‘We were told you were dead.’
