by Annie Groves
Yet as she pushed the pram along the main road, heavier now with all its shopping, the kernel of worry would not be dislodged.
Gladys flapped her duster out of the common-room window, careful to avoid two of the nurses who were propping their bikes in the cycle rack at the side of the yard. The dust rose in a puff, the air almost still and very warm. She glanced up at the sky, wondering if she might catch sight of any of the brave aircraft heading to the coast or Channel to defend the country from the Luftwaffe, in what was being described as the Battle of Britain. She wondered if she would have had the courage to be a pilot if she’d been a man. Sometimes she wished she could do more, something directly useful.
‘Penny for them.’ Alice stood right behind her.
Gladys wheeled around and almost banged her head on the window frame. ‘Oooh, you startled me.’ She still had to bite her lip not to call Alice ‘Miss’. Old habits died hard. ‘I was just looking for any planes. They must be up there somewhere. Going off to – what do they call them? – the dogfights.’
Alice came to stand beside her at the window and gazed into the cloudless blue. ‘Perhaps they’re further south. Or over Kent. It’s hard to say. But that’s where the dogfights are happening, apparently.’
Gladys nodded and then cleared her throat. ‘I been meaning to ask. How’s Edith? She’s so quiet around the place, I don’t like to speak to her direct.’
Alice took a moment. ‘She’s going to be all right,’ she said slowly. ‘She wouldn’t mind if you spoke to her, you know. She’s keeping going. The work helps.’
‘I can understand that.’ Gladys twisted her duster in her hands. ‘It’s so important, the work you all do.’
‘Well, so is yours,’ Alice pointed out. ‘We couldn’t manage if we didn’t have board and lodging all sorted out for us. It’s teamwork.’ She smiled but Gladys did not smile back.
‘I want to do more, Alice. I love going to the first-aid classes. I remember everything we’re taught. I wish I could read better and take exams and that.’
‘You’re improving so fast,’ Alice assured her, knowing that the young woman had hidden her shameful secret for years. Now she was finally learning she was making progress – but not enough yet to cope with nurses’ exams.
‘Anyway I can’t stop work to study. We need the cash, simple as that.’ Gladys grimaced. ‘Me ma can’t do without me wages, and I can always get home round the corner if something goes wrong with the little ones.’ It had been the burden of caring for her many younger siblings that had brought a halt to Gladys’s schooling in the first place.
‘If you keep up the reading and the first-aid course then something might come up,’ Alice ventured. ‘We don’t know what’s around the corner, but nurses will be needed even more than at the moment.’
‘Perhaps things will get easier when me sister is a bit older,’ Gladys replied, looking down at her feet as if she didn’t really believe it. ‘I was younger than she is now when I stopped everything to look after them. She helps a bit but not like what I had to. She’s a good girl though, doesn’t try to get out of her chores like some.’ She shook her head. It all seemed impossibly far in the future and gave her a headache to think about it. She tried to change the subject. ‘Oooh, what’s that you got there, a letter?’
Alice’s hand went to her skirt pocket, where Gladys had noticed the corner of an envelope sticking out. ‘Yes, it came earlier.’ She broke into a grin. ‘It’s from Dermot. Do you remember him? The locum doctor who helped Dr Patcham out last autumn.’
Gladys took a moment to think who she was talking about. ‘The one everyone got in a tizz about? I didn’t meet him but I know all you nurses went into a flap every time he was mentioned. Didn’t some swap shifts so they could stand more chance of seeing him? There was a right to-do.’
Alice laughed. ‘Not me. I’ve known him for years. He was a trainee doctor when I began nursing, back home in Liverpool. But you’re right – the first thing anyone notices is his looks. Not that they’ll be much use to him at the moment.’ She drew out the letter and reread it. ‘He’s back from France, thank goodness, and survived more or less in one piece. Now he’s somewhere near Southampton at a guess, as he can’t say exactly, but hints that it’s not too far from where he was before. He’s got his hands full with casualties from the fighting overhead. Those dogfights that you were talking about, I expect.’
‘See, he’s doing something useful,’ Gladys said.
‘So are you,’ Alice reminded her. ‘Who knows, we might make a nurse of you yet.’
CHAPTER SIX
Peggy was sure her mother-in-law suspected something. The older woman hadn’t been waiting up for her when she’d come in late from the pub that time, hardly able to remember what she’d been saying or doing after all the port and lemons, but ever since then she’d been on the alert, even more keen to point out the smallest mistake. She always claimed it was for Peggy’s own good, so that she wouldn’t make the same error in the future, but Peggy was permanently on the verge of screaming.
She knew she’d given her address to Laurence before eventually leaving the pub, but vaguely recalled he was on leave and so might not be around for long. She hadn’t worried too much. It had been a fun evening and she would have loved to repeat it but, if it wasn’t to be, then that was that. She wasn’t going to pine away if he didn’t get in touch. That wasn’t what she’d been looking for.
Perhaps she should have made more of an effort to talk to Edith, Peggy thought with a flash of guilt. That was what the evening was meant to have been about. But Edith had brought two other nurses along and then they’d bumped into Billy with all his friends – it had grown into something else entirely. She vowed she would see Edith again on her own and then they could have the heart-to-heart she dearly wanted. The pain of missing Pete never left her, and whatever she now did or said didn’t begin to touch it. That sense of overwhelming loss was at her very core; everything else was on the surface, far away from what really mattered. Perhaps Edith would understand.
She’d been on the point of scribbling a message to leave at the home on Victory Walk when the letterbox opened and an envelope landed on the doormat. Swiftly she moved to pick it up. It was for her, in handwriting she didn’t recognise, loopy and forward-slanting. Peggy hurriedly jammed it into the handbag she’d left on the stairs, ready to take to work. She would read it when she got to the factory. Despite the scores of people there, it was easier to find a private moment than here in Mrs Cannon’s house.
Right on cue Pete’s mother called out from upstairs. ‘Was that the post, Peggy love?’
Peggy gritted her teeth but made her voice as neutral as she could. ‘I can’t see anything. It must have been the wind.’
There was a brief pause. ‘I could have sworn I heard something,’ said Mrs Cannon, appearing at the top of the stairs, a fresh print overall on to greet the new day.
‘There’s nothing there,’ Peggy assured her truthfully. ‘Were you expecting anything?’
Mrs Cannon’s face fell. ‘No, dear. Not any more.’
Peggy immediately felt a rush of new guilt. She knew Mrs Cannon missed her son dreadfully and yet she couldn’t bear to think about it or it would open the floodgates of her own grief. Pete’s letters had been something they had been able to share, but there would be no more of them.
The older woman visibly pulled herself together, straightening her shoulders and smoothing down the cotton of her overall. ‘Well, I’ll see you later then,’ she said, in a voice that must have been intended to sound bright but which was so full of sadness that Peggy couldn’t bear it.
‘Yes, I’m just going to write a quick note then I’ll be off to work,’ she said, grabbing her bag and ducking around the corner of the corridor so that she wouldn’t have to witness Mrs Cannon’s brave attempt at normality, because it was all too painfully close to her own.
‘We gave Jerry’s planes a pasting last night,’ said one of the sailors as he made
his way up the gangplank to board his vessel. ‘Sent ’em back where they came from good and proper.’ He waved to the dock workers who were lined up ready to deal with the cargo.
Billy rolled back his sleeves and prepared to move the first lot of crates. Sometimes his leg gave him trouble when he had to deal with heavy weights, but he wasn’t going to admit that. He was dog tired after having been on shift half the night but he wasn’t going to admit that either.
‘That’s good news, then,’ said Ronald, coming up beside him. ‘Help me with this one, will you?’
Billy grunted in assent and took one side of the big crate, while Ronald manoeuvred his corner onto the trolley to drag it towards the warehouse. ‘Suppose so,’ he managed, as they set the big wooden box down.
‘Warm one today,’ Ronald went on, wiping his forehead with his dusty hanky. ‘What I wouldn’t give to be sitting around on me arse doing nothing. Like that lot.’ He tipped his head towards a small group of men who weren’t even bothering to watch all the activity, let alone come across to help. Ronald spat onto the sawdust floor. ‘Makes me sick. They might as well join up; they’re a fat lot of use round here.’
Billy looked up at his taller friend. ‘It’s true, you got a point there.’
Ronald shrugged. ‘That one – what’s his name, Bertie – seems to have it in for you.’
Billy laughed grimly. ‘It’s cos he got drunk and drove into me leg, and almost killed me friend and her little boy. Then he blames her for him being slammed in the nick for a bit. Not for long enough, if you ask me.’
‘Longer the better,’ agreed Ronald, pushing his hanky back into his trouser pocket, frayed where it had caught on the rough wood of the crates. ‘All the same, he don’t half bear a grudge. He was going on about her the other day, nasty piece of work that he is.’
‘He’s just trying to make himself sound more important than he is – and that’s not hard,’ Billy said.
Ronald thought about it for a moment. ‘Could be – he likes to strut about like he’s cock of the walk, and for no good reason,’ he conceded. ‘All the same, he’s up to something. Wish I could say what but I can’t.’
‘Should I warn Kath?’ Billy asked. ‘I can’t very well go worrying her if we don’t know what it’s all about, can I? That would be no help at all.’
Ronald spread his hands. ‘Wouldn’t hurt to go round and check on her, would it? You seen her recently?’
‘No,’ Billy admitted. He’d kept to his resolution to give her some space, to let her grieve for that bastard Ray Berry, and not to pester her, even though the effort of staying away had cut him to the quick.
‘Why not pop round, just friendly like, and don’t say anything in particular, just see if she’s doing all right,’ Ronald suggested. ‘Look, there’s the boss. We’d better get to that next crate.’
Billy nodded. ‘Fair enough.’ His mind was racing. He could not let Bertie attempt to hurt Kath again. He’d be doing her a favour if he dropped round, just like old times. It was a happy coincidence that it matched what he wanted to do more than anything.
Peggy hummed to herself as she put away her overall in her locker and shook out her hair from its protective scarf. When Pete had been alive she used to lighten it with lemon juice in the summer, but lately she hadn’t bothered. Now maybe she might start again, if there were any lemons to be had. She brought out the little mirror she kept tucked in the side zip of her handbag and pouted at herself in the reflection. Not looking too bad, she decided, given what she’d been through recently.
‘You’re cheerful today,’ Clarrie observed, arching a carefully shaped eyebrow at her. Peggy noticed her friend had managed to use a brown pencil to taper the brows, as she hated her naturally red tone; it was all right on her head of hair, but not her brows, she always moaned.
Peggy shrugged noncommittally. It was true, she was fizzing inside after reading her surprise letter, but she wasn’t going to tell anyone why, not even her oldest friend. She had a feeling Clarrie wouldn’t understand. ‘Sun’s out, sky is blue,’ she said vaguely. ‘I can’t be miserable all the time, can I?’
Clarrie nodded approvingly. ‘That’s the spirit. That sounds like the old Peggy is on her way back.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Don’t suppose it was anything to do with that piece of paper I caught you looking at before dinnertime?’
Peggy almost blurted out a shocked reply but gathered her wits quickly. ‘Oh, I wrote a note to Edie to ask her out on Friday to the Duke’s Arms, so we can have a bit of a chat,’ she said easily. That was true, insofar as it went, but it had been a different piece of paper. She’d delivered the note that morning before arriving at the factory. She’d been reading her letter just before their dinner break.
‘What a good idea. Shall I come?’ Clarrie asked. ‘I’ve been wondering how she’s been getting on.’
‘Let’s wait to see what she says,’ Peggy said quickly. ‘She might just want a heart-to-heart. I’ll let you know.’
Clarrie nodded. ‘Got to dash. I promised Ma I’d try to get some tripe on the way home and the place will shut in fifteen minutes.’ She sped off.
Peggy gave her friend a little wave and then her thoughts returned to the contents of the letter. It had been from Laurence and was very flattering. Best night he’d had for ages. Didn’t realise London had such pretty girls. Would she do him the honour of meeting up again, just the two of them this time? He’d suggested a pub closer to the centre of town, but Peggy knew she could get there with just one change of bus.
It wasn’t as if she was being unfaithful to the memory of Pete. This was just a bit of fun, a way of getting out of the house and having a respite from sitting eye-to-eye with Mrs Cannon. It didn’t mean she missed Pete any the less. It was just so tempting to hear someone, especially someone as good-looking as Laurence, tell her she was pretty when she felt so withered and empty inside. It was a little plaster over the top of a deep wound, nothing more.
She debated saying no, claiming she had to be up early for work, which was true, or that she shouldn’t because of her recent bereavement. Yet she knew she could do her work without thinking – she’d done so often enough when out courting with Pete. And why would she even tell Laurence about her husband? This was just a bit of fun.
Pushing her conscience to one side, she decided to accept.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Billy rounded the corner to Jeeves Place, turning over in his mind what he would say. He’d had a couple of days to think about it, as he hadn’t been able to come round immediately after the conversation with Ronald. He’d been exhausted after working at night and then going straight to a day’s graft at the docks for a start. He also wanted to say the right thing, to somehow encourage Kathleen to be vigilant without scaring her unduly. But now, as he approached her door, he still hadn’t decided exactly what to say.
All he knew was, he was desperate to see her. It felt like years, even though it had been more like weeks. Every moment away from her was too long. When he was with her, time sped by. Even though he yearned to hold her and protect her, just being in her company would be enough, or at least for now.
Yet he hesitated, his hand raised above the letterbox which Kathleen had clearly polished recently. His heart ached at all the attempts she made to make her home look nice for little Brian, even though it was only two small ground-floor rooms with poor daylight and a noisy family upstairs. She couldn’t have shown more love and pride if it had been a palace.
Taking a deep breath, he rapped on the door.
It swung open immediately. ‘Oh, Billy, it’s you.’
Kathleen looked relieved and yet her smile was reserved, not the wide welcoming grin he’d grown used to. ‘I could see someone was out there and wondered who it was. You better come in.’
‘Expecting someone else, was you?’ Billy asked anxiously, not wanting to intrude and yet immediately on his guard as to who it might be.
‘No, no.’ She moved inside and he followed her,
into the dimness of the small living room with its single bed pushed up against the far wall, everything immaculate as ever but still shabby. ‘Time for a cuppa?’
Billy nodded at once. ‘As long as I’m not interrupting – is the nipper asleep yet?’ He cast his eyes towards Brian’s cot, but the little boy was sitting up, and he waved his arms and called out when he saw who it was.
Billy went over and tousled his hair. ‘Only me, Brian.’
Brian sat back down from where he’d pulled himself up on the bars and, satisfied, began to play with his teddy again. Billy nodded to himself, pleased the boy hadn’t forgotten him. He sat at the wooden table near the window and watched as Kathleen busied herself. Her quick, neat movements never failed to make him catch his breath, as she took the milk from its cooler and set aside the small piece of muslin she used to cover it to keep out the flies. Then he remembered what he had in his pocket.
‘Got some biscuits,’ he said awkwardly, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out the packet.
Kathleen turned. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have. They’re like hen’s teeth these days.’
Billy grinned and handed them to her, watching as she set them out on a plate. ‘Well, what’s the use of working down the docks if you can’t get some treats?’ Seeing her expression change he hurried to reassure her. ‘No, no, they’re legit. I got a tip-off from me mate who knew which shop down Limehouse they was going to.’
Kathleen let out a breath. ‘I didn’t mean … I know you wouldn’t do nothing wrong, Billy. But you hear such stories these days. I don’t want to get you in trouble.’
‘Can the boy have one?’ Billy asked.
‘Maybe a half. I don’t want to spoil his supper. Anyway, he can’t go getting a taste for these things, they’re too hard to come by,’ Kathleen said ruefully, as Billy broke a biscuit in two and gave half to Brian.
