by Nancy Revell
‘Then we stopped at the Bungalow Café and shared a big piece of cake. I was so nervous I could hardly eat,’ Polly recalled.
‘And all I could think of was kissing you.’
Tommy stopped walking and pulled Polly close.
‘It was a little while before I got my wish,’ he said, bending his head and kissing Polly gently on the lips.
He pulled away and looked at her.
‘Which is why I believe we’ve got so much catching up to do.’
Polly laughed.
‘Come on then,’ she said, seeing the bus with its dimmed headlights approaching. ‘Let’s get back home and start catching up.’
When they walked through the door to Major Black’s flat, Polly could see that Tommy was shattered.
‘I’m making the tea,’ she said. ‘And you’re going to do as you’re told for once and sit in that nice armchair.’
Tommy opened his mouth to argue but Polly had already left the room.
When she came back five minutes later with the tea tray, Tommy was fast asleep.
She put the tray on the sideboard and took a throw that had been flung over the back of the sofa. She carefully put the blanket over him and kissed him ever so softly on the lips.
‘Don’t you worry, Thomas Watts, we’ve got all the time in the world to catch up.’
Chapter Thirty-One
John Street, Sunderland
One week later
Sunday 22 November
‘So, they’re that bad, are they?’ Arthur said.
Major Black nodded.
‘They are. That bad. I suppose they don’t call them night terrors for nothing.’
The two men were in the front room of the Major’s ground-floor flat on John Street.
Arthur was sitting in the armchair next to the large sash window overlooking the pretty cobbled street. The Major had wheeled himself over to the sideboard where he kept his decanter of whisky.
Splashing two good measures of single malt into heavy glass tumblers, the Major balanced one in his lap, held the other in his left hand, and used his right hand to push his wheelchair towards Arthur.
The old man stayed seated, knowing the Major would be offended if he got up.
He took the proffered glass.
‘To our brave boys,’ the Major toasted, his Scottish accent strong and proud.
‘Aye, our brave lads,’ Arthur said solemnly.
They were both quiet for a moment.
‘The matron on Tom’s ward told me,’ Arthur said, looking out of the taped-up window. ‘Took me aside one day. Said she thought I ought to know. That she didn’t feel it was appropriate to mention them to Polly. Dripping sweat, she said. Every night. Without fail. She ended up leaving a spare towel on the chair by the side of his bed so he could wipe himself down. Said he spent half the night flinging his arms out, grabbing at imaginary objects.’ Arthur took a sip of whisky. ‘He says he doesn’t want Polly hearing him in the middle of the night “wailing and howling like some dog that needs putting down”. Says she’s been through enough.’
‘The thing is,’ the Major said, ‘he’s not going to be able to keep it from her when they get married.’
‘Aye, I know. The lad’s worried sick he’s going to scare the living daylights out of her on their wedding night.’ Arthur took another sip of his whisky. ‘I’ve told him he needs to be honest with Polly. Tell her the truth. That it’s nowt to be ashamed of.’
‘It’s understandable, though, isn’t it? The laddie’s young. He’s got his pride. He doesn’t want to tarnish what they’ve got with the horrors of war,’ the Major said, grimacing as the whisky burned. ‘God, it makes me so angry.’ The Major shuffled uncomfortably in his wheelchair. ‘As if it’s not enough that war takes live and limbs – but a man’s peace of mind as well.’
Arthur nodded.
The Major’s body suddenly sagged.
‘Has he told you what terrors are tormenting him?’ he asked.
Arthur took another sip of Scotch.
‘Aye, he has.’ His face was sombre. ‘When Tommy was on the hospital ship, he was looked after by a Red Cross nurse. He told me his memory is vague as he was in and out of consciousness, but he could remember her face. The ship got hit. They were able to get into lifeboats, but a lone bomber emptied its load and they all went in. Tommy said it was chaos. One minute they were about to be rescued, the next they’d been chucked into the Atlantic. He saw the nurse struggling to keep herself from going under. Swam to her, but she was dragged under.’
‘Her clothes,’ the Major muttered, knowing it was often the heavy weight of sodden clothes that beat even the strongest of swimmers.
‘Exactly,’ Arthur said. ‘Tommy said he dived. Found her and tried to get to her but she gulped in water and that was it. It was too late. Drowned. Dead by the time he reached her.’
The Major’s face was flushed. His free hand was gripping the arm of his wheelchair.
‘Tommy said it’s her face he sees in his sleep – at the very moment that life leaves her. He says he spends his night swimming. Desperately trying to reach her, but failing. He can’t forget her face. One of the things that gets him the most is that he never got to thank her for helping him.’
‘And he can’t remember anything more about her?’
‘No, just that she was young.’ Arthur paused. ‘He remembered her voice. Sounds like she was from the Dales.’
‘A Yorkshire lass?’
‘Aye.’
The two men drank in silence, deep in thought.
After a little while, the Major drained his glass.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said as he wheeled himself towards the nest of tables by the side of the sofa.
Picking up the black Bakelite telephone from the polished wooden top, he put it on his lap. He lifted the receiver and dialled the operator.
Armed with just the name of the Red Cross ship that had been hit, the Major made a few calls to those in the know, as well to those who owed him a favour.
Half an hour later he had acquired the information he needed.
Handing Arthur a piece of paper on which he had scrawled a name and address, he leant back in his wheelchair.
‘It’s worth a try,’ he said. ‘And if it doesn’t stop Tommy’s night terrors, it might well help that lassie’s poor parents. Give them some kind of solace that their brave and selfless daughter was saving lives to the bitter end.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Maison Nouvelle, Holmeside, Sunderland
‘Arms up as though you are a bird in flight,’ Kate told Charlotte.
The pair were standing in front of the workbench in the middle of the Maison Nouvelle.
‘This just needs taking in here … and here.’ Kate spoke more to herself than to Charlotte as she carefully pinned in both sides of the dress.
‘So, people just give you clothes they don’t want?’ Charlotte asked, amazed that someone could have voluntarily relinquished the lovely red dress she was now wearing.
‘They do,’ Kate said. ‘Arms down.’
‘But why didn’t the person want this dress any more?’ Charlotte asked.
‘It’s not my place to ask why,’ Kate said. ‘Turn around.’
Charlotte did as she was told and Kate put more pins into the back of the dress where she was going to make a pleat.
‘Do you ever go back to Whitburn?’ Charlotte asked.
Kate stood up straight, took a step back and inspected her handiwork.
‘No,’ she said.
Charlotte sensed this was a topic that was not up for discussion.
‘I think this dress was destined to be yours,’ Kate said. ‘You’re going to be the belle of the ball – or I should say, the weddings.’
Kate bent down to check the hem, which she had pinned earlier.
Charlotte looked around the shop at the rolls of fabric stacked up against the walls, and then back at Lily’s green velvet dress, which was now hanging up
on a hook.
‘So, it’s all right to wear red to a wedding?’ Charlotte asked, looking down and thinking that she didn’t care. She loved this dress and was going to wear it regardless.
‘Of course,’ Kate said, standing up straight again, her eyes still fixed on the hem. ‘White is the big no-no, as only the bride should wear white – or green, in Lily’s case.’
Charlotte watched as Kate walked over to the worktop and picked up her measuring tape. Just then the bell tinkled and the front door opened.
Kate spun round to see who it was.
They both stared as Alfie’s head appeared around the door.
It took Charlotte a moment to recognise the face, having only ever seen it looming down at her from the timekeeper’s cabin.
‘Oh, Alfie.’ Kate’s voice sounded out her obvious relief. ‘Come in, come in!’ She turned back to Charlotte. ‘Are you all right just staying like that for a few minutes, Charlie? This won’t take long.’
Charlotte nodded, intrigued as to why Alfie was here – in a boutique of all places – and looking like he was just off to church.
‘Here you are,’ Kate said, bustling over to the rail of clothes and pulling out a pair of trousers.
‘Ah, that’s grand, thanks, Kate.’ Alfie pulled out his wallet and took out a five-bob note.
‘If you’re not happy with them, just bring them back.’
‘No, no, they’ll be perfect.’
‘Your nana keeping all right?’
‘Yes, she’s well. She sends her regards. And her thanks for “doing my job for me”.’
‘Tell your nana it keeps me in work, so it’s me that should be thanking her,’ Kate smiled, taking the money and giving Alfie his change.
‘She was telling me there’s a new movie in town called Holiday Inn.’ Alfie started to shuffle about nervously on the spot. ‘It’s got Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire in it.’
‘Oh, that’s nice,’ Kate said. ‘Well, I hope she enjoys it. You can tell me if it’s any good next time you’re in.’ She looked at Alfie, who didn’t seem to be making a move. ‘Well, you have a good evening.’
‘Yes, you too.’ Alfie reluctantly made his way to leave.
When he opened the door he turned and looked as though he was about to say something, but didn’t.
‘Bye, then,’ he said, shutting the door carefully behind him.
Charlotte was still standing mannequin-like in the middle of the shop.
‘I don’t think it was his nana that wanted to see the film.’
‘Really?’ Kate said, distractedly. She was inspecting the scoop neckline on the dress. ‘I hope Rosie doesn’t think this is too low.’
‘No, it’s fine! Perfect the way it is,’ Charlotte panicked. ‘So,’ she said, quickly changing the subject, ‘Lily’s dress is finished, is it?’
They both looked up at the stunning, emerald-green fishtail dress whose neckline was most definitely too low.
‘Just about,’ Kate said. ‘Just a few little bits and bobs to add.’
‘And,’ Charlotte said, trying to sound as casual as possible, ‘what is it exactly that Lily does again?’
For the first time Kate looked at Charlotte rather than the dress she was altering.
‘What does Lily do?’ Kate repeated.
Charlotte nodded.
‘For a living?’
Charlotte nodded again.
‘Mmm …’ Kate hesitated. ‘Well …’
‘Only me!’ Rosie’s voice trilled out at the same time as the doorbell jangled and the shop door swung open. After Sister Bernadette’s impromptu visit, Rosie always made a point of announcing her arrival.
‘Ah, Rosie, perfect timing!’ Kate said. ‘You can see Charlie in her new dress before she takes it off.’
Rosie looked at her little sister, who, she realised, not for the first time, was not so little any more.
‘Very grown-up,’ she said. ‘Too grown-up for my liking … And that neckline’s a little low.’ Rosie paused. Seeing the instant look of fear on Charlotte’s face, she allowed herself a half-smile. ‘But despite that, it does look rather lovely. And suits you to a T.’
Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Charlie was just asking what Lily does for a living.’ Kate tried to sound nonchalant as she carefully unzipped the back of the dress.
‘Oh, was she now?’ Rosie gave Charlotte a puzzled look. ‘Lily’s doing the same thing as the last time you asked.’ Rosie looked at her sister, a slight frown on her face. ‘She has interests in a variety of businesses.’
‘I was just wondering what kinds of businesses?’ Charlotte said.
Rosie hesitated for a moment, not liking where the conversation was headed, but also not wanting to sound evasive.
‘Lily’s got a finger in a few pies,’ Rosie said. ‘This place being one of them.’ She looked around the shop. ‘And she owns a few properties, and a few stocks and shares here and there which she likes to play with.’
She looked at Charlotte.
‘Why the sudden interest?’
‘Just curious, that’s all.’
‘Well, curiosity killed the cat,’ Rosie said. ‘So why don’t you just concentrate on your own business rather than everyone else’s?’
‘Go and get changed,’ Kate said, walking over to the back room that also doubled as a changing room. ‘But be really careful with the pins. I’ll wait here and you can just pass it out to me.’
As soon as Charlotte was behind the curtain, Rosie and Kate exchanged looks.
‘So,’ Rosie said, delving into the pocket of her overalls, ‘I’ve got everyone’s clothing coupons.’
Kate’s face lit up.
‘That’s fantastic!’
‘What’s fantastic?’ Charlotte’s voice sounded from behind the curtain at the same time as her bare arm appeared holding out the red dress. Kate took it.
‘What did I just say about curiosity killing the cat?’
‘What’s fantastic,’ Kate spoke through the curtain, ‘is that Rosie and her squad – and just about everyone else Polly knows – have all donated their clothes rations so that I can make a decent wedding dress for Polly. Even Helen’s put hers in.’
‘Wow!’ Charlotte drew the room divider back dramatically. ‘That is fantastic. You can have mine as well.’
‘Don’t worry, yours have already been donated,’ Rosie said.
Kate and Rosie both looked at Charlotte.
‘A trip to the hairdressers might be a good idea sometime soon,’ Rosie mused.
‘No, it’s fine the way it is.’ Charlotte couldn’t get her words out quickly enough.
‘I think Charlie wants to grow her hair long.’ Kate looked at Rosie, widening her eyes. ‘Like Polly’s.’
‘Really?’ Rosie teased. ‘Rather than have a nice, practical bowl cut like Martha’s?’
Charlotte scowled by way of response.
‘I can tidy it up for her,’ Kate said. ‘I have some proper hairdressing scissors.’
‘I think you’ve got enough on your plate,’ Rosie said, glancing up at Lily’s green dress. ‘Two weddings to deal with, as well as your normal work.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ Kate said. ‘The busier the better. Anyway, I’ve more or less finished Lily’s dress and to be honest, I thought Polly might have some bridesmaids that would need dressing – but it would seem not. Lucille’s going to be the only bridesmaid, and she doesn’t need a dress. Bel says she’s obsessed with this one particular yellow dress she’s had since she was two. Apparently, every time she grows out of it, Bel just gets her another one in the next size up.’
Rosie chuckled. She and the rest of her squad had all heard about Lucille and her yellow dress.
‘Bel’s going to be the matron of honour, but I don’t even have to make her a new dress. She’s going to wear her wedding dress.’
They all automatically looked towards the window where the dress was displayed.
‘Actually
,’ Rosie said, ‘I think everyone’s a little disappointed that it’s going to be a rather quiet, down-at-heel affair – everyone, that is, apart from the bride herself, who says she’d be just as happy walking down the aisle in her overalls as long as Tommy was waiting for her at the altar, although I have a sneaking suspicion that she’d secretly love to have a new wedding dress. Not that she’d ever admit it.’
‘Am I right in saying they’re not even going to have a proper reception?’ Kate asked.
‘Sandwiches and tea at Tatham Street. But I think everyone’ll end up in the pub afterwards. Bill said he’d shut off half the bar and the snug.’
‘Are they having a honeymoon?’ Kate asked.
Rosie shook her head.
‘Well,’ Kate said, trying to sound positive, ‘at least they have each other, eh? And Tommy’s alive and back for good.’
‘Exactly,’ Rosie agreed. ‘Polly says he’s coming on in leaps and bounds. Putting on a bit of weight thanks to Agnes’s cooking.’
Charlotte was standing quietly, taking in every word. She had been captivated by Polly and Tommy’s love affair since first hearing about it.
‘Come on, then,’ Rosie said, turning to Charlotte. ‘We’ve taken up enough of Kate’s time. She’s got another wedding dress to design.’
Kate gave Charlotte a hug.
‘Drop by at the weekend. I should have your dress ready by then.’
Charlotte stood and stared through the brown anti-blast tape at Bel’s dress while Rosie scrabbled about in her bag for her little electric torch. She’d just found it when they heard the sound of two pairs of high heels click-clacking on the pavement.
‘Rosie – is that you?’
Charlotte and Rosie looked up to see Vivian and Maisie emerging through the darkness of the blackout. They were both done up to the nines. Rosie cursed inwardly.
‘It is!’ Vivian said in her usual Mae West drawl. ‘And would I be wrong in guessing that this is the little runaway, Charlotte?’
Maisie flashed a weak beam of light from her own pocket torch, making Charlotte squint.
