by Nancy Revell
‘Oh,’ Hannah said, taking the brown paper bag and looking inside. ‘A book!’
She carefully took it out.
‘Cicero,’ she said, touching the hardbacked book as though it was newly discovered treasure.
‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’ Angie asked.
‘He’s Hannah’s favourite philosopher,’ Olly explained.
Hannah opened the book but hastily shut it again.
‘I’ll read it properly when I’m at home,’ she declared. ‘Please tell Charlotte “Thank you thank you thank you!”’
‘But how was it that Charlotte ended up telling you the truth in the end?’ Polly asked, puzzled.
Rosie groaned.
‘A story for another time.’
Seeing Bel and Marie-Anne coming into the canteen, she waved to them.
‘Hi, everyone,’ Bel said as she and Marie-Anne reached their friends. They pulled up a couple of chairs and sat themselves at the top of the table.
‘Just in time,’ Rosie said, wanting a change of subject. Much as she liked Marie-Anne, she still didn’t want her to know too much about her personal life. ‘Dorothy was just on the verge of grilling Polly about her wedding.’
‘How did you know?’ Dorothy looked at Rosie in amazement.
‘Just a guess,’ she said, looking across at Polly, whose face had dropped at the mention of her nuptials.
They all caught Bel raising her eyebrows at her sister-in-law.
‘Oh, that’s a look if ever I saw one,’ Marie-Anne said.
‘Yes, it was!’ rose Dorothy’s voice.
Polly sighed and looked at Bel.
‘Come on, Pol, you’ve got to tell them,’ Bel said. ‘It’ll be good practice for when you confess all to Tommy.’
Now all the women were enrapt.
‘Eee, yer not ganna call it off, are yer?’ Angie said, aghast.
There was silence as they all awaited Polly’s answer.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What you mean, “not exactly”?’ Martha asked, her face deathly serious.
Polly let out a nervous laugh.
‘Oh, it’s not bad news. I’m not calling the wedding off.’ Polly paused. ‘But there might be a bit of a delay.’
‘A delay?’ Gloria asked.
‘Why?’ Rosie asked.
Polly took a deep intake of breath.
‘I still can’t believe you did what you did,’ Dorothy said to Polly as they all headed back to the dry basin. ‘But I don’t think you should put off the wedding just because you’ve given away all of Tommy’s wages, don’t you agree, Ange?’
‘I agree,’ Angie said automatically. She was still slightly dumbstruck that anyone could give that amount of money to charity. And Polly of all people. She was meant to be the sensible one.
‘What about you, Martha?’ Dorothy asked.
Martha nodded her head in silent agreement. She, too, had been gobsmacked by Polly’s revelation, but more so about the poor girl who had lost her hands. She kept looking down at her own hands, imagining what it would be like to have false ones.
‘I suppose you could do what Rosie did,’ Gloria suggested.
‘What? Run away and get married in a registry office?’ Angie asked.
‘It wouldn’t cost much,’ Martha said.
‘I’d be up for that,’ Polly said. ‘More than up for it, but I think my ma would have me hung, drawn and quartered for even thinking about it. Mind you, she’s probably going to do that anyway when I tell her about the money.’
‘Oh. My. God.’ Dorothy said. ‘You’ve not told Agnes?’
Polly turned pale.
‘No, and I’m not telling her until I’ve told Tommy.’
‘When yer gonna tell Tommy?’ Angie asked. ‘He’s gonna go bonkers, isn’t he?’
‘Ange,’ Dorothy reprimanded. ‘That’s not really what Pol wants to hear.’
‘I’m sure Tommy won’t go “bonkers”,’ Gloria said.
‘I hope not,’ Polly said. ‘Although I bet you he’d be up for doing a Rosie and Peter.’
‘It did sound very romantic, didn’t it?’ Dorothy mused, a dreamy look on her face.
‘Yes, I thought so,’ Polly said. ‘Just the two of them. In a whirlwind romance, like they were eloping. Although,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘I wouldn’t have liked the end bit – my new husband going off to war. Imagine getting married, then two days later kissing him goodbye, not knowing if you’re ever going to see each other again.’
‘It’s not unheard of these days, though, is it?’ Gloria said.
‘It must be awful,’ Marie-Anne said.
Polly gave an involuntary shiver, thinking of her own heartache when she’d waved Tommy off to war after just getting engaged.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I keep telling myself how lucky I am. At least I’ve got Tommy back for good.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
As Rosie made her way over to see Helen in the admin building, she looked up at the squawking seagulls settling on top of one of the cranes that wasn’t in use.
So that was why Polly had been so evasive the other day. She must have been out of her mind with grief to have done something so insane. Rosie wished she’d known; she might have been able to talk her out of it.
Rosie had known Tommy for years during his time working for the Wear Commission and she knew he’d not make a song and dance about it all, but she’d wager he’d secretly be gutted. There was no way he’d be able to afford a ring, never mind pay for an actual wedding. And it wasn’t as if Agnes had any money.
‘All right, Jimmy!’ Rosie waved over to the head riveter. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything, she beat him to it.
‘No! You can’t have her!’
It was their regular banter concerning their long-standing tug-of-war over Martha.
Opening the door to the main entrance to the admin department, Rosie was hit by a blast of warm air. Taking the stairs two at a time, she felt lighter for having told the women about her meeting with the deputy head. They’d made her see the funny side of it all.
Rosie spotted Helen in her office as she opened the inner door. She was on the phone and her face looked serious.
She hung up and gestured at Rosie to come in.
‘There’s been another accident at Doxford’s,’ she said, lighting up a Pall Mall and waving at Rosie to sit down. ‘A rope from a ship being launched wrapped around a ship in the next berth and dislodged a ladder, which landed on top of some poor bloke. Fractured his skull … He was only forty-five.’
‘Dead?’ Rosie asked, aghast.
Helen nodded solemnly.
‘Leaves a wife and nine children.’
‘Oh God, that’s awful.’
‘I know,’ Helen said. ‘They’ll end up ruling accidental death, but in my opinion that was negligence.’
Just then, Rosie felt something brush against her leg. She jumped and looked down to see Mrs Crabtree’s ginger cat. She gave it a stroke before it sauntered over to a saucer of water in the corner of the room.
‘Does Gloria know?’ Rosie said, nodding at the cat.
‘Yes …’ Helen blew smoke up to the ceiling ‘ … she does. They were reacquainted yesterday.’
‘And?’ Rosie asked.
‘And she was not at all amused. I think her words were something along the lines of, “It’s your choice if you want that flea-bitten moggy getting under your feet and tripping you up, as long as you don’t go chasing after it if there’s a bloomin’ air raid.” I did, of course, try and argue the case that I’d really done her a favour since the cat had taken up permanent residence on her doorstep and would not leave. There was also a practical reason for bringing the cat to work.’
‘As the resident rat-catcher?’ Rosie asked.
‘That’s right,’ Helen said.
‘And has it many scalps to its name as yet?’ Rosie looked at the marmalade-coloured cat now making itself comf
y right next to the heater.
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ Helen said, getting up to pour a cup of tea from the tray on the side. She pointed to the pot, but Rosie shook her head. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘how did it go yesterday?’
Rosie let out a slightly bitter laugh. ‘As well as to be expected, all things considered.’ She thought of the cheque that George had given her when he’d dropped her and Charlotte off. It had made her feel a lot better about the outcome.
‘Which is why I’m here,’ Rosie said. ‘First of all, thank you for having Charlotte work at the yard last week and paying her—’
‘But,’ Helen interrupted, ‘you’re going to tell me she won’t be coming back as she’ll be starting at the Church High School.’
‘That’s about the sum of it,’ Rosie said. She had mentioned the school when she’d popped in to see Gloria on Sunday. ‘If I can get her in there. I don’t know if they’ve got any places, or if they’ll have her,’ she added.
‘Oh, they’ll have her,’ Helen said, taking a sip of her tea. ‘They’ll be jumping at the chance to have someone like Charlotte – with brains, and I’ll bet you she’s good at sports as well.’
Rosie had to think. She wasn’t sure about her sister’s sporting prowess.
‘Plus, they’ll need all the pupils they can get at the moment,’ Helen added. ‘I’ll bet quite a few of the parents have packed their little Jezebels off to stay with relatives in the country for the duration.’
‘To be honest, that would have been my preference. But as Charlotte has no relatives, never mind any in the country, I’m going to have to risk her staying here.’
Helen wondered again how on earth Rosie was able to afford paying for her sister’s private education.
‘I went there, to the Church High School, you know?’ Helen said.
‘Did you?’ Rosie did, in fact, know Helen had attended the school. ‘Would you recommend it?’ she asked, suddenly realising that the two of them – formerly silent foes at the yard – were now chatting like good friends.
‘I’m sure Charlotte will love it there,’ Helen said. ‘And it does have a good reputation. If your sister wants to go on to university, they’ll get her in.’ She knew Charlotte would get the grades she needed. She’d seen how quickly she’d picked up anything she was asked to do at the yard. The girl was as bright as a button.
Rosie pushed herself out of her chair.
‘I better get back. Poor Gloria’s meant to be on light duties. I’ve leant on her heavily these past two days.’
‘Oh, Gloria’s as tough as old boots,’ Helen laughed. ‘But if you’re worried about her for any reason, come and see me. Just put her wherever they need a spot-welder and make sure whichever squad she’s with knows that she has to rest her leg as much as possible. And if you get any gyp from anyone, just send them my way.’
‘I will.’
Rosie made to leave, then stopped, thumping her head with the base of her palm.
‘I forgot. The main reason for coming here. I need to take a few hours off later on in the week to go and see the head at the Church High School. I’ll work overtime on Sunday and make it up then, though.’
‘Yes, of course, that’s fine. And put the word out that from now on in, there’ll be all the overtime anyone wants.’
‘You on target for Brutus?’ Rosie asked.
‘Yes.’ Helen’s face lit up. ‘Fingers crossed she’ll be going down the ways a week before Christmas.’ Her joy, though, was immediately dampened when she thought about her father. If only he could be there to see what she had achieved. He’d be so proud of her. God, she missed him.
Rosie made to leave for the second time.
‘Actually,’ Helen said, ‘when you go up to the school, send the head my regards, will you?’
Rosie looked at Helen.
‘Are you sure? I’m going to be honest about what I do for a living. I don’t intend to make the same mistake twice. They’ll know I’m a welder here.’
‘Oh, I’m very sure,’ Helen said, a slightly mischievous look on her face. ‘In fact, send her my “warm regards”, and tell her that I might be popping in for a visit sometime soon.’
Rosie smiled her thanks. She had no idea that on hearing Helen would be ‘popping in’, the headmistress would be rubbing her hands with glee. Any visit by a member of the Havelock family meant a sizeable donation to the school.
What Rosie did know, however, was that if the headmistress was harbouring any doubts about taking Charlotte on, the mere mention that Rosie knew Mr Havelock’s granddaughter would have the head pushing Charlotte through the school gates faster than a ship careering down the slipway on launch day.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Over the next two weeks, like all the workers at the North Sands yard, the women welders notched up as much overtime as they could in the push to get Brutus ready before Christmas.
As soon as Dorothy and Angie got back to their flat in Foyle Street it was a case of bathe, eat and bed. Angie liked to joke that she could hear Dorothy snoring in the next room, but in reality she had no idea what kinds of sounds her best mate made in her sleep. As soon as her own head hit the pillow, she was out like a light.
Once a week they’d meet up with Marie-Anne and go dancing at the Ritz. But that was it. There was neither the time nor the energy for anything else. They only got to know that their ‘neighbour with the posh name’, Quentin, whom they’d yet to meet, had been home for a few days after being informed of it by their other neighbour – a kindly old woman they’d nicknamed Mrs Lavender as her real name was too difficult to pronounce.
Martha’s daily routine paralleled Dorothy’s and Angie’s, minus the weekly knees-up at the Ritz. When she wasn’t doing overtime, she was carrying out her ARP duties.
The worries her mam and dad had about their only child working at Thompson’s were only marginally less than their anxieties about her pulling people out of collapsing buildings. Anxieties that had been exacerbated since the Luftwaffe had bombed Canterbury. It had been one of the heaviest raids on Britain since the Blitz.
Gloria, in the meantime, had taken herself off light duties despite objections from Rosie and Helen, reassuring them that her leg was well and truly on the mend. She wanted to get back to normal, immerse herself in work – and be with her own squad. She needed more challenging work, and the company of her friends. Since the air raid she seemed to be missing Jack more than normal.
The women had subtly tried to find out more about her friendship with Helen and how they had become so close, but Gloria was keeping tight-lipped. There was no way she could tell them that their friendship had been forged when Helen turned up on her doorstep the day she’d found out she was pregnant.
At least, Gloria consoled herself, her workmates had stopped asking when Jack was coming back. They’d either got tired of asking or had believed her when she’d claimed his presence on the Clyde was needed for the foreseeable.
Following her meeting with the headmistress of the Sunderland Church High School, and after Charlotte had passed the required test, Rosie was informed that the school would be willing to accept her sister as a day pupil. The headmistress, a Mrs Longbottom, an odd woman with an even odder name, had tried to hide her surprise when Rosie had informed her that she was a welder. Rosie thought this might well have been because she had mentioned her friendship with Mr Havelock’s granddaughter before disclosing what she did for a living.
When she’d waved Charlotte off on her first day at her new school, she had felt more like a mother than a sister as she’d tried not to fuss too much. Charlotte had agreed Rosie could walk her as far as Christ Church, but had insisted on saying her goodbyes before she crossed the Ryhope Road. It was only then that Rosie had realised she was, in fact, more nervous than Charlotte.
Rosie now just needed to work out how she could keep hidden the truth about her ‘other life’ at Lily’s – past and present – from Charlotte. It was not going to be easy, but Rosi
e had convinced herself that it was not impossible.
Polly, meanwhile, had cut down her visits to Tommy to every other day. Tommy had been adamant, reassuring her that it wouldn’t be long before he was discharged. He had taken to walking around the entire grounds of the hospital three times a day in his determination to get his fitness back, and was eating whatever was put in front of him in order to put on weight.
Dr Parker had been a little concerned that he was pushing his body too hard too quickly, but he had learnt that Tommy wasn’t one to take orders. It made him wonder how he had got on in the navy, but the more Tommy told him about his unit in Gibraltar, the more he understood why it had been a perfect fit for his patient. Tommy’s specialised diving unit sounded as though it was made up of a mishmash of wayward characters, led by a commander who sounded unconventional and had little regard for those higher up the chain of command.
As Arthur visited his grandson on the evenings that Polly was doing overtime, it meant she was still able to regale her friends with daily updates on her fiancé’s progress.
The women never tired of listening to their workmate chatter on about the man she loved, but neither did they tire of admonishing her for not plucking up the courage to tell Tommy about the non-existent gratuity pay.
Polly insisted it was hard finding the ‘right moment’.
She knew that she was on borrowed time, though.
She had to confess and she had to do it soon.
It was the only blot on her otherwise perfect landscape.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wednesday 11 November
‘Bloody hell,’ Percival shouted across the ward. ‘Listen to this.’ He shook open the newspaper he was reading.
‘“All traffic into and out of the world’s busiest port has been brought to a complete standstill after it was discovered that the Germans have mined waters off New York Harbor.”’
Tommy was sitting up in his bed, listening intently. He knew there were hundreds of ships anchored there waiting assignments. The harbour was massive. There were thirty-nine shipyards and hundreds of piers and docks. This was not good news.
